


Her Majesty's Guide To The Universe

by fadeverb



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Worldbuilding, heroic bureaucracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 66,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupiter steps out into the vast world of the advanced universe, and tries to figure out what to do with the portion of it that she owns. A great deal of paperwork is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lawyers, Guns, & Running

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the product of my deep desire to work out the implications of the worldbuilding in this movie. The splices, the androids, the royal families, the bureaucracy! As such, it's liable to become something of a travelogue at times, with more emphasis on strange new worlds (necessarily filled with OCs) than fast-paced plot. All the same, it will have its own arc, and come to an eventual conclusion.
> 
> Large amounts of the worldbuilding work have been inspired (or in some cases swiped with a cry of "Yes! Of course that scene must mean that's a corporation and they're shareholders, as well as having individual holdings!") from the great meta over at [fuckyeahjupiterascending](http://fuckyeahjupiterascending.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr: my thanks go to them for so much inspiration and analysis.

The first lawyer appeared in the middle of the night. Three o'clock, when every person in the house from the early risers to the late stragglers was in bed, and no one should've been awake. Jupiter awoke to a faint hum and a pale blue light.

"Blrf," she said, or something much like it, and grabbed for the holdout pistol Captain Tsing had sent her home with; it lived under her mattress, where certain nosy relatives were unlikely to find it, or shoot themselves with it. Jupiter was busy regretting stuffing it quite so far under her mattress when the white-faced man in the center of the room smiled brilliantly at her.

"Good evening, your majesty," he said. "This is your official notice of a summons being served on behalf of the primarch of the Salvaridis family, regarding the contested sections of the will of Lord Balem, former primary of the Abrasax family, now presumed deceased. Do you have a statement for the record?"

"Get out of my house," Jupiter hissed. "And keep your voice down." Her aunt turned in the bed, and Jupiter lowered her voice further. "Get off my _planet_."

"Your statement has been entered into the record," said the man, who reminded her of Advocate Bob in about the same way an orca reminded her of a happy cartoon seal. Built for a similar environment, on a much more vicious design. "Thank you for your time, your majesty. I will not remain in your territory any longer than the time allotted for summons by the standard code." He set a sheave down on the ground in front of her, and walked away.

His smile hadn't changed position once in the entire process.

#

The second lawyer was another one of those robot-type people, as perfectly golden as the first one had been porcelain white. She crouched down beside the bathtub Jupiter was scrubbing, and held out a sheave. "Good morning, your majesty. It is absolutely imperative that you acknowledge receipt of this document."

Jupiter sat back on her heels, and pointed the brush at the lawyer. "What are you doing _here_? Can't you leave these things with my people for this?" She hadn't given much thought yet to her people--too much to think about already--but presumably she had some. People for these sorts of things. The Queen of England didn't have to take court summons from lawyers in person, right? Surely.

"As you have not designated an official representative for such matters," the woman said pleasantly, "you must accept the summons in person." She tapped the sheave until it displayed a circle the size of the mark on Jupiter's arm. "Please confirm your receipt here."

"Jupiter!" Her mother strode into the bathroom. "Have you seen--"

#

"We can't keep wiping my family's memories every time something happens," Jupiter said.

Caine waited. For her to say more, presumably, and it was one of those sinking moments when she realized that this was something that needed explanation, and not, as she might've thought, a statement that could stand alone.

"Because it's going to give them--brain damage, or something! What happens if you wipe someone's memory every five days? Are there studies on that?"

"There aren't any major side-effects," Caine said, in what was probably meant to be a reassuring voice. He was not good at reassuring voices. Many types of reassurance, yes, mostly involving dramatic physical movement and holding onto her and standing in the way of violence, all of which she liked _plenty_ , but the kind of reassurance where after the explanation of this wild, wide reality she felt better than she had before? Not so much.

She paced to the edge of the skyscraper roof. Then right off the edge. That still gave her a buzz, after weeks of practice. It was like traveling into orbit without all the inconvenient side-effects. Gravity wasn't her problem if she didn't want it to be. "It doesn't seem right," she said. "Not to disrupt their lives, not to keep them in the dark. I need to decide--"

The maintenance door at the top of the building banged open, and a man in a janitor's uniform came huffing out, hands to his knees as he caught his breath. Caine stepped between that man and Jupiter; she dropped quickly back to the rooftop, turning her boots off. Nothing to see here, no reason to wipe another person's memory today.

"Hey! You can't be up here, man," the janitor said. He stood up, drawing in a heavy breath. "This is restricted area. Go canoodle somewhere else, okay?"

Jupiter mouthed _canoodle_ at Caine, who shrugged back to her. He didn't spend time being baffled by anyone. Or by surprises in general. If it wasn't going to try to kill, kidnap, or kiss her, he could stand back and let Her Majesty deal with it. (She wasn't entirely sure on the last one, either. Maybe that was royal prerogative? Something to ask about when it wouldn't be awkward, if there was such a thing as non-awkward time to ask about that.) "We'll get moving," Caine said. After all, one rooftop was as good as the next.

"You _really_ shouldn't be up here," the janitor said. Sweat rolled down his neck into his collar. "You should move downstairs before someone gets hurt."

Caine's eyes narrowed, as something about the man had him scenting more than inconvenient interruptions. And that was when the shooting started.

#

Fact: Jupiter Jones remembered to turn on her anti-gravity boots, which was a good way to not plummet off the side of the building as a chunk of the rooftop disintegrated beneath her feet.

Fact: Caine Wise was fast with a shield, that blue sheen flung up between her and incoming danger before she had quite registered what the danger was.

Fact: The janitor's illusion vanished, and a wiry gray creature revealed in his place launched itself, snarling, at the enemy.

Fact: The enemy was still all but invisible: a mirage-glimmer, a haze in the area, that hurled deadly energy at her.

Fact: Jupiter began to understand the concept of combat flashbacks, and her throat seized up in a wash of _not again_ even as she ducked behind the cover Caine is providing, as she hurled herself into the opened side of the building, as he shot back at whatever was trying to kill her, as she landed on the ordinary floor of a top-story open plan office in which people were screaming and running, as she ran with them.

Fact: Herd immunity works better with vaccines than bullets: two office workers crumpled to the ground, bleeding, at her left side.

Fact: Jupiter Jones, owner of the Earth, could do nothing about any of this except keep running.

#

Three stories down, she spun around another turn in the stairwell to find a half dozen grays staring right at her. She couldn't draw a gun so fast as Caine, but she had hers out and aimed at the group a fraction of a breath before they lunged.

Right past her, streaming around and past and _over_ , those scrawny gray legs leaping over her like she was the star in a nature documentary about really weird gazelle, and up the stairs. She spun around, her gun still out, and saw the grays swarming--someone. Someone who looked mostly human, as best she could see through the dogfight of skinny limbs and snarling, with a weapon one of the grays wrenched out of that human's hands.

Jupiter backed down three more stairs. The grays were winning, and she didn't know which side they were on.

"If it's not too much of an intrusion, your majesty," said a voice behind her.

Jupiter spun around and pulled the trigger.

"Fuck," she said, and, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," and then, "What the hell do you _want_?" The lawyer stood there in a perfect suit, exactly like the one the advocate had worn when he led her through that nigh-endless bureaucracy, but several cuts more expensive. This one was androgynous, elfin, a blue-tinged white that reflected the florescent lights of the stairwell into strange patterns across its skin.

It gently pushed the shot portion of its jaw back into place. "Your majesty," it said, as if there weren't explosions overhead and screams below and a pack of grays pulling apart someone not six feet away from them, "I'm very sorry to interrupt you at a time like this, but your signature on this form is absolutely vital to the proceeding of the litigation at hand."

"Did you send these people?" Jupiter asked, because it was the only question she could think of that made sense. She had a robot lawyer at gunpoint and the grays were attacking someone else. Sense was not building up in significant heaps at that moment.

"Certainly not! Direct action against a fellow Entitled without proper feud-filing would be quite irregular," said the lawyer. It drew itself up to its full height, which was still at least four inches shorter than Jupiter. Not counting that it stood two stairs down, at that. "The Salvaridis family never takes action against any other family without _all_ the papers being in order. However, if you do not accept the summons, the Department of Punitive Measures will be forced to note this against you when the case goes to court."

"What case? What court? What--" Jupiter ducked. The lawyer did not, and so lost a few strands of hair as the wall behind them fell away. "What are you even _here_ for?"

"To deliver the summons," said the lawyer, as even as before. Three grays skittered past them, pressing against the far side of the stairwell to avoid bumping into android or flustered Entitled. "Will you accept it this time?"

The grays launched themselves out of the opened wall at a blurred space. That blur shot one of them down; the other two landed, and clawed at what rapidly revealed itself to be someone with a feline face snarling from the inside of a tiny spaceship, not much bigger than its pilot and bristling with guns.

"Does accepting get me less shot?" Jupiter yelled, and ran down the stairs before more of the architecture could fall away.

"That's not within the scope of this set of paperwork," the lawyer said, voice full of infinite regret, and followed her.

#

Caine caught up with Jupiter six stories down, with a bloody stripe across one shoulder and that air of distress that evaporated the moment he saw she was safe. "Mercenaries," he said. "But you're safe--"

"Except I can't get rid of this lawyer!" Jupiter was still trying to catch her breath. She caught it a little faster when Caine's gun turned immediately towards the android, who was still busying trying to plaster its hair back into order. "Don't shoot the lawyer. I think it's a lawyer. It hasn't--tried to kill me. Personally."

He lowered his weapon. Slightly. It was the angle that said he could still take out a leg, if it came to that. "How are you?" That was business, as much as it was personal concern.

"Alive," she said, and tried on a smile. "Nothing hit me. Good work." She took a breath before she could start babbling inanities. "Do we know who sent those people to kill me?"

"Not yet," Caine said. He was still watching the lawyer. Which meant _he_ thought it was a potential threat, or at least distasteful, whatever she might have said.

"How likely is it that the people starting some kind of legal case against me also want to kill me?"

"You're Entitled, your majesty," Caine said. "All sorts of people will want to kill you."

"Right," she said. "Okay." She turned towards the lawyer, and smiled. Or bared her teeth at it. One of the two. "Would you explain the summons to me, and exactly what it means?"


	2. The Right Question

The tiny lawyer stood on the deck of the ship, blue-white hair completely still in the breezeless air of enclosed space travel, and smiled as if it had nothing to worry about. Two of the crew had weapons pointed at it, and all it did was _smile_. Jupiter found it--unnerving. Like clients who tried too hard to make friends with their cleaners thirty seconds after throwing a fit over a missed spot on a bathroom mirror. The difference was that she knew how to deal with those sorts of people, and she didn't know how to deal with robotic lawyers, quite yet.

Other things she didn't know how to deal with: the grays skulking around the bridge, and the way they all dipped down from their already stooped posture every time her gaze passed over one.

"They do belong to you now," said Captain Tsing. The captain was as free of expression change as the lawyers had been, but somehow what was creepy on them was soothing on her. Captain Tsing didn't have to raise her voice or make dramatic faces to get things done. She just commanded, and her people responded. No doubt she was an appropriate role model, to the extent that Entitled were supposed to have role models of any kind.

"So that's all it takes?" Jupiter asked. She deliberately did not look at the lawyer, but frowned at the grays, who cringed in front of her. Cringing. Another thing she wasn't asking anyone to do, and they were doing anyway. "They tried to kill me while they belonged to Balem, and now that I own the planet, they try to save my life?"

"That is the gist of it," Captain Tsing said. "We've scanned the surroundings for any signs of the ship those mercenaries came from, but given our limited operational points, I am not surprised that we found no traces of them."

"And right now, the rest of these grays are rebuilding Chicago and wiping the memories of anyone who noticed the fight. And coming up with explanations for the people who died." Jupiter swallowed on that last sentence. There it was, and no one else reacted, as if she had said _those people who received parking tickets_ or something similarly inconsequential. "Right?"

"Our colleagues are busy as you speak, your majesty," said the nearest gray, and ducked his head even lower. He could've kissed her knees, from that angle. What a nasty image.

"Don't call me that," Jupiter said.

"However you wish, certainly, we will do," said the gray, and bowed until his head could've almost collided with the floor. The deck, of the ship she'd retreated to because she couldn't trust the safety of her own home, the planet that she _owned_.

"I need to find out who's trying to kill me," Jupiter said. It felt like stating the obvious, but no one said _Obviously, you idiot,_ which made her feel better about it as a kind of mission statement. This year's goals: to not be killed by strangers. "And if it's connected to all these lawyers."

The lawyer smiled at her. Of course.

"We're detailed to protect you," Captain Tsing said, "until your honor guard is assigned, but we're not an investigative branch of service. Your majesty." This was delivered with great civility and finality both. _It's not my job to figure out who wants to kill you._ Message received.

"If you'll excuse me," said the lawyer.

"Sure," Jupiter said. "Go ahead. Everyone else does."

The lawyer appeared immune to sarcasm. Maybe it wasn't in its programming. "What you need, your majesty, if you don't mind my saying so, is a lawyer."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Betrayal of my current patron goes entirely against my programming," the lawyer said sweetly. It flicked a few strands of blue-white hair back into place, and inclined its head her way. "However, it seems to me that as the inheritor of the uncontested portion of the Balem Abrasax holdings--"

"What's the _contested_ part?" Jupiter asked. "Wait. No. Never mind that, finish what you were saying."

"--you most likely already have a lawyer in your possession," finished the android, as if it had never paused at all to let her speak. "Perhaps several, depending on the specifics of the will, and the lifespans of those left to you by Her Majesty Seraphi Abrasax."

"If I already have lawyers," Jupiter said, "where _are_ they?"

"Your holdings are all entangled with Balem's," Captain Tsing said, as an unexpected source of legal advice. Jupiter liked that source better for delivering the information without the constant smiling. "Picking apart what's yours is easy in the macro, difficult in the micro. That kind of detail is what the paper-pushers make their bread and butter off of."

It was, in some ways, worse than being shot at. At least with the shooting there was a clear enemy and a reasonably clear solution. You couldn't just shoot your way through paperwork. Not...usually. Probably not.

Jupiter decided to ask Caine about that discreetly at some point. Entitled could do all sorts of things. Maybe firepower-based bureaucratic approaches were right in line with what she could get away with.

"So I have lawyers who I don't know about, and can't find, and I need other lawyers to figure out who they are, where they are, and how I get them back? Am I following this?"

"Quite accurately, your majesty," said Captain Tsing.

"Oh," Jupiter said. "Well. If that's all." She took a deep breath, and remembered that she didn't have to fake a smile at any of these people. "I'll be in my quarters while I think about this. If anyone else sends assassins after me in the next hour or so, tell them they need to take a number and get in line."

#

Jupiter was staring out the window into space when Caine came in. He held out a glass of water and a pill.

"I remember how this goes," she said. For him, she was willing to summon up a smile. And this time around, she didn't say anything stupid about dogs or romance or--well, there were a lot of things she could've said, that she wasn't going to. Maybe part of growing into the role of an Entitled was learning when to shut up and let other people fill in the blanks.

"The captain said you'd want to go to Orous," Caine said.

"I bet she didn't say it like that."

"Not exactly." The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but she liked the look of that. A sign that they weren't completely in the weeds, as her high school friend who'd gone into the restaurant business would've said.

And "gone into the restaurant business" was a nice way of saying "got stuck in a dead-end position doing line work in a series of cheap restaurants full of underpaid cooks, because who's going to pay well for immigrant workers when they can't exactly go complain to the labor board, huh?" But that was how becoming an adult worked: you learned to lie to yourself and put a decent face on things, just enough to keep moving.

Except now she was lying to everyone else and putting a normal face on things when the world had blown up around her. Gotten so much bigger than she could've imagined, when she used to think the problem was that she'd imagined something too big and brilliant for the real world to match. It turned out that big and brilliant didn't always mean _good for you_ or _nice_.

"I probably do," she said. "I need to sort through this whole mess, and even if that planet makes things worse, I might be able to get some access to...things I own. Things I think I own." Planets were great to own in theory--and in practice, when it meant keeping every single person on one alive in the face of Soylent Green mass murderers who treated the whole business like daily corporate business, personal murder attempts aside--but they weren't, what was the word? Fungible. They were downright lousy at being fungible.

"Your majesty," Caine said, and she leaned in a little at that, just by reflex, "someone _is_ trying to kill you. That may be more important than this legal business."

That was not a conversation to put her in a warm and fuzzy mood. But it was probably the conversation she was supposed to be having. She'd already used up her once in a lifetime opportunity at making out with the hot guy while in the middle of a life-or-death situation. Best not to do that _too_ often.

"They may be the same business." Jupiter sat down on the bench by the window before she could get too distracted. The Aegis jacket she was wearing was perfectly suited to the ship's environment--a friendly informative plaque on the clothing supply room had told her so--and she still felt cold beneath it. "This family that's sending lawyers, the Salvaridis family, do you know anything about them?"

"They're Entitled," Caine said. He settled back into a sort of parade rest. They were talking business, so it was a business stance, even if she would've preferred to sit side by side and chat about it like friends. To be fair, most of her friends back home had never discussed murder attempts with her, or intergalactic politics. "A medium-sized family, speaking of influence. Not so powerful as House Abrasax, but they have a portfolio of a few dozen harvest-seeded planets as a house. Not counting any private holdings and the like."

"Do they hate--my family?" Jupiter stumbled over naming it as that, but she couldn't imagine this other family would have anything against her real family, back on Earth. House Abrasax, on the other hand... She could imagine having something against them easily. Very easily. It would almost be harder not to have something against those people. "My House. I mean, do they have a political reason to want me dead?"

"I don't know," Caine said carefully. "Direct assassinations between Entitled aren't common, but they do happen. People write clauses into their wills to make it an impractical means of resource procurement. Most of the time. The legalities of it all can get pretty complicated."

"Which is where all the lawyers are coming from."

"Maybe."

Jupiter closed her eyes for a moment. It didn't help. At least there was someone interesting to look at if she opened them again. "I don't even know if I have a will. So I have...someone trying to kill me, who might or might not be the someone I'm in legal proceedings with."

"One of the people you're in legal proceedings with," Caine said. "The captain said that the case against Titus Abrasax might take a decade or more to work through the system. Unless you put pressure on the right places to move it through more quickly, but you could expect him to pressure right back."

"This is like high school all over again," Jupiter said. "Except in high school all they could do was _gossip_ about you, not send mercenaries. Could this House Salvaridis send mercenary assassins after me?"

"Easily," Caine said. "So could Titus, though it might harm his case if you died before it came to trial."

"How hard is it to hire mercenaries, anyway? How many people _could_ have hired them? ...could _I_ hire mercenaries to attack my enemies?" She added hastily, "Don't answer that last one. Rhetorical question. Honest. But for the other questions... Seriously. How hard, and how many?"

"It's expensive," Caine said, after a moment. "But it's also a big universe. There are enough people out there who can afford them to keep mercenaries in business. But this was a clumsy attack. Completely direct, small force, unprepared for any serious resistance."

"I want to find out who did it," Jupiter said. "Can _you_ track down who hired those people?"

He hesitated a moment longer before answering that question, which wasn't usual at all. "I could," he said. That wasn't exactly the same as _I can_ , and however it worked that she heard most of these splices and androids and people from across the galaxy in English (not Russian), and they heard her meaning just fine in return, she was still pretty sure those phrases didn't mean exactly the same thing.

"But if you did," Jupiter said, "you'd have to leave me alone and go looking. For...a while."

"Yes, your majesty."

She stood up to stare out that window. The stars were perfectly brilliant in space, more so than they ever were from the back yard at home, in the middle of city lights and pollution and clouds. She'd spent so damn long wanting to get a little closer to those stars.

Everything looked simpler from a distance than up close.

"Paperwork first," she said. "I need resources, and some backup. Like--a credit card. Whatever you people use instead of a credit card. Some sort of accountant, and some kind of lawyer. I must have _money_ , right? So all I need to do is find a way to get to it."

She turned for the door. And a thought struck her.

"How long will this ship keep taking me places, just for asking?" Presumably free of charge. Maybe if they billed her, she could figure out where her space-valid money was located.

"Until your official honor guard is assigned," Caine said. "Officially."

"Unofficially?"

"Until Captain Tsing thinks you're not likely to get shot by someone the instant she lets you out of her sensor range, or until her commanding officers send her somewhere else."

"But why is she doing that for me? Unofficially."

"You are royalty," Caine said.

And Jupiter was sure that couldn't be the full answer.

#

But when she got back to the deck, she couldn't imagine interrogating the captain, as straight-backed and formal as ever, about those reasons. It would be too much like a round of "Do you like me? Do you _like_ like me?" for comfort. Instead, Jupiter nodded her head in what seemed like a regal kind of gesture and said, "We should head back to Orous as soon as possible." And then, "Where did the lawyer go?"

"We put it in a holding cell," said Captain Tsing. "Do you want it fetched back?"

"No, I'll go see it," Jupiter said, with a mild sense of relief to find out that "it" was accepted local terminology for that kind of robot lawyer, and not just her failing to pick up on what robots dressed like when they wanted to indicate they were male or female or some other alien option she didn't know about yet. At least her advocate had been named Bob. It was hard to go wrong with a name like that. "I just have some questions."

She followed a crew member with a hawkish face--maybe the Legion took birds of prey as well as elephants and wolves, when they went looking for splices, and that was another thing she didn't know how to ask about politely--to a portion of the ship she hadn't seen before, past stacked rows of circles in the walls. One of those opened, as they passed, and another crew member rolled out, uniform already on.

Jupiter caught a glimpse of something from one of those capsule hotels inside: a padded floor, a blanket, doors to cupboards against one wall, a sink the size of a cereal bowl. Then the circular door sealed itself again. The crew member who'd pulled herself out ducked her head to Jupiter, and walked away, fingers already touching on the silver control nodes along her forehead.

"Does everyone have quarters that small?" she asked the hawk-man who was leading her. The room they kept sending her to, with its bare walls and window to the stars, seemed more sterile and more spacious all at once. A cold sort of extravagance, on a spaceship.

"Only enlisted," said the hawk-man, and turned down another corridor. "Here it is." He tapped a panel on the wall, and this time the gray wall simply went transparent.

The cell was almost exactly the size of that crew storage tube, but tipped vertically. The lawyer sat on a stub of a bench that took up half the width of the cell, and its knees nearly bumped the wall. Its face had been, for the first time, cast into a perfectly neutral expression: it looked like nothing so much as a machine that had been turned off. A pale blue statue, but without the animation that a sculptor would put into a statue's face.

Then it smiled at her.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that," Jupiter said.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty?"

"...never mind. Are your employers trying to kill me?"

"That would be highly illegal, unless they filed intent for feud with the appropriate authorities."

"Have they?"

"That knowledge isn't within the scope of my duties," said the lawyer. It emoted apology at her, in a general way, with the way it held its face and shoulders. Still creepy. "However, if you want a detailed explanation of the proceedings currently being filed against you--"

"Unless there's something in there about murder, no."

The lawyer cleared its throat delicately. "There is, in fact, a question of murder at hand, your majesty."

"Do they _want_ to kill me?" Jupiter felt like she was asking the wrong questions, again and again, and the right questions were just out of reach. On the tip of her tongue, almost.

"I couldn't speak to the personal desires of my patrons, your majesty."

"Can you just _summarize_ what this whole legal thing has to do with murder and me, then?"

"Certainly." The lawyer's smile returned in full force. "House Salvaridis wishes to dispute the execution of Balem Abrasax's will, on the premise that you murdered him."


	3. As You Know, Advocate Bob

**Time: 00:03**

Bob's eyes snapped open when his feet touched the ground. The suspension harness unwrapped itself from around him, connections detaching from all the usual places as his body took over autonomic function again. The dream of the rest sequence slipped out of his waking mind, as it was designed to do. Two more weeks, the next allotment of Personal Development Funds, and he would be able to afford a package of update dreams for expanding his work options. In the meantime, the room-and-board default dreams, which tidied away his short-term memory into accessible patterns, would have to suffice. 

All assuming that upcoming work didn't require too many bribes; he had spent far too much in pleasing assigned clients already, and for what return? Very little. No personal requests in six months. No word back from that one thrilling encounter with a new Entitled, which he had hoped, unwisely, might result in...something. Nothing much! He wasn't thinking of anything _extreme_. A kind word, maybe. A tip. Reimbursement for expenses incurred during the performance of his duties. Still. Two weeks of ordinary jobs, with ordinary expenses, would let him buy that study dream he'd seen advertised in all the break rooms. Inheritance Tax Laws: New And Improved! Up To Date For All Civilized Jurisdictions Within The Tri-Galaxy Area For This Year! The commercial had been very exciting, and he was rather susceptible to career-related advertising.

That wasn't a flaw. That was a feature of his type.

In the space of time it took for him to contemplate all these points, Bob stepped three paces forward onto the launch plate. Another android was being deposited by another harness, in the space he had left. Internal clock said that he was high in the queue this shift, which would give him more than two minutes in the clean-and-dress booth before he had to run for the clock-in point.

It felt like the start of a good day. He very much wanted it to be a good day, and resolved to believe it would be.

#

**Time: 00:47**

_Client #001 (Assigned By Queue): Citizen of the Commonwealth (sub-category: Orous, registered native), standard human (sub-species: none)._

_Request: Directions to Revenue Review._

The walk from the meeting point to the office took four minutes. "And now," Bob said, "we proceed through this line, which is currently moving at a brisk morning speed--"

"Look, boy," said the client, patting him lightly on the shoulder, "I've done this before. You might as well go back to your queue."

#

**Time: 05:03**

_Client #004 (Assigned By Queue): Citizen of the Commonwealth (sub-category: no home system, Commonwealth-registered transient), standard splice (sub-species: brown bear) (contract status: complete)._

_Request: Tax refund assistance._

Bob stacked three more sheaves on the pile. "And once we've filled out all these forms," he said, "we return to the line we were just in--"

"Do we get to skip to the front of the line?" demanded his client. It wasn't how she towered over him that was intimidating: it was just the way she kept pounding a fist into her palm whenever she didn't like the answer.

"...no, but having stood in the line before, we are now prepared for the forms requested at the front, which makes it all far more pleasant." Bob tried on his best smile. He practiced it in the mirror of the clean-and-dress booth on mornings when he was one of the first advocates lowered from storage. "Then we'll have everything we need to return to the refund office."

"Why didn't they tell us at Delayed Refunds that we'd need these forms for the place they sent us, anyway?" She slammed her fist into her palm. "It was easier to shoot people than this! And some of those people even shot back."

"Weapon discharge is against the rules of this corridor," Bob said.

His client peered down at him thoughtfully. "If I do start shooting, does anyone show up to shoot back at me?"

"Not immediately. However, there's a great deal of incident report paperwork to fill out."

She sighed. "Right. Gimme a sheave."

#

**Time: 11:11**

Bob took a miniscule sip from his cup. Drinking the Robo-Pep slowly didn't make his break last any longer, but it gave him something to do in the fifteen minutes allotted. He'd already checked on his hair, collar, and tie. Advertisements for dreams, drinks, and virtual vacations spun in jolly formations around the edges of the news program the previous shift had left playing in the break room.

In theory, every shift was allowed to change the programming on their arrival. In practice, some defense attorney from the late night shift had figured out how to lock the controls six months ago, and so every other shift was stuck watching whatever she had decided on each day. Today: nothing but business news. Market prices and mergers and layoffs, all the usual details of a world grinding its way along outside of the corridors of infinite bureaucracy.

Not technically infinite. He'd looked up the number, once. The corridors were not, as was sometimes rumored, being constantly built further out, new offices added, at such a rate that a human might start walking now and never reach the end, no matter how many times they regained youth, because of the expansion moving faster than any human could walk. There were slow, irregular expansions, but more often reorganizations that simply shuffled locations around to confuse everyone until the errata was out for the new maps.

Whether the bureaucracy was itself infinite was a far more interesting question. He'd tried to look up the answer to _that_ , and discovered that it depended on how one defined and quantified bureaucracy itself. He suspected it was finite. A very large number, but still a finite one. Humans got bored too easily to keep expanding bureaucracy forever.

Now, if they would just let the androids handle all of it...

An ad for Robo-Pep leapt in front of the news program (Abrasax Industries stock recovering after the wobble that occurred when the family expanded unexpectedly with the arrival of a recurrence, and now, news on Regenex price changes!) to splash logos in front of him. Bob took a sip of his drink reflexively.

"I'm not programmed to be resistant to advertising," he told the file clerk sitting beside him.

It shrugged awkwardly; one of its shoulders had been damaged by a client months ago. "I was saving up for the resistance upgrade, but I need a chassis fix first."

"Bodies are so difficult," Bob said.

"Wish you could've been a house valet instead? Built into a room?"

Bob thought about it for a moment. "No," he said. "There's no room for advancement in a career like that."

#

**Time: 12:35**

_Client #005 (Assigned By Queue): Citizen of the Commonwealth (sub-category: Tertiary Belt of Orous, home-owner), standard human (sub-species: none)._

_Request: Adjustment to filed will._

"I should've brought my own lawyer," the client snapped. She was a small woman, impeccably dressed in layer upon layer of woven holograms, and she smacked Bob in the chest with the sheave she was carrying every time she wanted to make a point. Which was often. In retrospect, the bear-splice seemed less intimidating. The bear-splice had only wanted to disembowel people who made her stand in lines. "But no, I had to be thrifty! When I get back home, I'm telling my sister exactly what I think of _her_ cost-saving measures."

"I assure you, I'm doing everything--"

"Not everything!" Thwack. "You refuse to change this will!" Thwack. "You refuse to take me to anyone who can!"

"It's an entailment," Bob said, doing his absolute best to maintain an unfrazzled and sunny expression, as the contract employee guidelines demanded. (They were called guidelines, and functioned more in the way of rules. Contractors who flouted the "suggestions" in the appendix did not last long.) "An entailment runs through by generations, and can't be changed by an adjustment to the will. Your niece will inherit that property regardless."

"After she went and married a splice!" The sheave thwacked against Bob's chest again, and the woman turned to spit quite elegantly on the floor. "She's disgraced our entire family! I've disinherited her! Isn't that enough?"

"Not by the terms of the entailment." Bob smiled every more brightly. "Could I fetch you a beverage?"

"I don't want you to fetch me anything except a specialist in inheritance law! Before my property passes into the hands of a niece who'll be producing _kittens_!"

He had been wrong. It was not any sort of a good day.

#

**Time: 15:50**

_Client #007 (Request By Name): Entitled Citizen of the Commonwealth (sub-category: no home system), standard human (sub-species: royalty)._

_Request: Unspecified._

Bob had been praying for the sweet release of shift's end when the last assignment of the day came in. And then, _then_ , a personal request. He double-checked the headers on his way to the meeting point. Even the prosecution lawyers wouldn't be cruel enough to fake one of those on him, would they? The encryption all checked out. He was reasonably up-to-date on those protocols. He hadn't annoyed anyone of importance recently, among the sort of people who would care enough about contract bureaucratic assistants to take revenge on them.

He dodged an angry security detail--possibly off to deal with an angry bear-splice, but that wasn't _his_ problem--as they charged down a corridor, took a disused staircase down three levels to avoid a crowded elevator, and skidded to a halt in front of the assigned doorway with just enough time to smooth down his hair and smile, smile, _smile_ before the door opened.

"Your majesty," he said, "welcome back to Orous." And his smile didn't twitch, not one bit, even though Queen Jupiter Jones, arguable Primary of House Abrasax, largest sharehold of Abrasax Industries, had brought her own damn lawyer with her. (And the same bodyguard splice, plus a couple of keepers in basic projected disguises, but never mind those.) "How may I serve you today?"

The lawyer at her side smiled back at him, and opened a standard text channel.

#

_I see that Titles hasn't upgraded to the latest models yet._

_I see that House Abrasax still enjoys purchasing the latest models before all their bugs have been worked out._

_House Abrasax? I'm here strictly for House Salvaridis. Surely you checked IDs and authorization before accepting a client as who they claim to be._

_Surely you're aware that identification checks are handled by the door AI._

_Perhaps I'm behind the curve on knowledge of low-level work like that._

_Perhaps you should learn more about your surroundings before offering criticism._

_I see no reason to bother myself with the details of this place. If I spend more than an hour in this office sector, it will only be due to your sloth and incompetence._

_A typical private lawyer: you don't even try to check on relevant facts before delivering an opinion your patron wishes to be true._

_I notice you didn't deny my point._

_It hardly justified a direct response._

_A typical contract bureaucrat: you pretend not to notice any objections that might cause you some work._

_Your jaw seems to have been dislocated recently. It isn't closing properly._

_Your tie seems to be askew. It's not very professional_

#

Bob checked his tie. It lay straight already across his shirt.

"Don't mind the lawyer," said the queen, with a dismissive hand gesture for the android at her side. "This is Tau, who isn't working for me. I need to find out what charges are being filed against me, what's up with this will dispute thing that's going on, and how to access some funds so that I can get a lawyer of my own. Do you have accountants who work on credit around here?"

"As you know," interjected Lawyer Tau, "her majesty ought to deal with the summons regarding the disputed will before anything else." Its smile revealed glossy azure teeth.

Bob discovered a deep and passionate hate within his circuitry that he had never felt before, except when confronted with another android of his own model. "As you know," he responded, "I am here to serve her majesty's requests, not prioritize them against her wishes."

The queen put a hand up. "As you might _not_ know, I'm up to here with the 'your majesty' stuff. Some exceptions apply." She glanced at her bodyguard, and then focused pointedly on Bob. "Can you find me someone who can get me access to my money?"

The answer to that depending on how one defined "access" and "money", and to what degree each was required. Bob settled on, "Yes, your...clientness?"

"Call me Jupiter," said the queen.

#

Some things were much simpler when the government wasn't involved. Bob had a distaste for thinking that so directly, but there it was. Or, he decided, some things were much simpler when the government wasn't involved _if_ one already had a great deal of money. If he had entered this beige-adorned waiting room on his own account, and spoken to the perky splice receptionist, he would have been escorted right back out again after a basic credit check. The lines and confusion of government bureaucracy were time-consuming, but they were catholic in access. Anyone could stand in those lines! And there were fermionic scooters available for those technically unable to stand.

He stood in the corner of the financial advisor's waiting room, ignoring both Lawyer Tau and the keepers murmuring to each other. Strictly speaking, this was not his job. And his shift had ended almost an hour ago. But who could say no to an Entitled? And why would he _want_ to say no? It was a reasonable extension of his duties.

It was going to put him at the very end of the queue for harnessing, and he'd have to dash at the beginning of shift to avoid a tardy demerit, with no time for face polishing. But this time, _this time_ , she might tip. It would naturally be in the forefront of her mind after all this discussion of finances. The queen had asked for him by name.

"She's likely to forget you the instant she walks out of here," said Tau, examining the shine of its embossed fingernails critically. "You know how Entitled are." It lifted a thoughtful expression toward him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose you wouldn't know, given your employment."

"I see they haven't corrected the civility routines in your model yet," Bob said.

"I am as my creator programmed me," Tau said serenely. "If I seem insulting to you, it's only because you aren't up-to-date on proper interaction between androids."

"It is a pity," Bob said, "that my programming strictly forbids violence."

"Mine only allows violence in self-defense," Tau said. "Of course, in order for a situation to justify such an action, there would have to be someone present who qualified as a threat. It's almost a pity there are none such in this room."

Bob had a very cutting rejoinder prepared when the door to the pedestrian walkway outside crashed in.

The two keepers scurried back, towards the door the queen had gone through. Lawyer Tau ducked beneath a coffee table. The receptionist squeaked, and hid behind his desk. In the doorway, client #5 of the day stood tall, a laser cannon in one hand and a security bot held up by the throat in the other.

"I AM EXTREMELY TIRED OF PAPERWORK." She flung the bot back into the pedestrian walkway. Somewhere in the distance, there was an explosion, and a certain amount of screaming. "These instructions are confusing, and I need an advocate. _You_ are my advocate." She punctuated this statement with the canon pointing towards Bob. "Tell me how to fill out Form 17-J-I-don't-remember-the-rest! It wants information I don't even have about my splicer of origin. If the maker's mark isn't good enough for this paperwork, what _is_?"

The door from the office slammed open, keepers scattering out of its way, and there was the queen's splice, a blue shield up and weaponry out. It was probably an excellent moment to join Tau underneath that table.

Bob did not want to share anything with that lawyer. Especially in a space that small.

Bob stepped towards the ursutant, hands raised. "I apologize," he said. "I should have gone through the entire set of forms with you at the time. I'm with another client right now, but if you would be willing to take a seat in this waiting area, I can help you with some of the forms until she reappears. After that, perhaps you could make an appointment? Or simply ask for me by name at the advocacy desk. I'm available by request at the same time every day." Smile, smile, _smile_ , as if there was nothing to be worried about. Not even the approaching sirens.

She sat down on the couch, knees pressing against the coffee table. "It's a very confusing form," she muttered.

Tau rolled out from under the coffee table, and found a seat on the other side of the waiting room, managing somehow to look as if this was a perfectly normal sequence of actions which it performed on a regular basis, and just as elegantly every time.

Bob sat down beside his (former) client, and put out a hand. "I gather you're having trouble with the 17-JK15? I heard one of the batches of that form was misprinted with the instructions for the 17-JK15-Beta, which could cause any number of problems."

The bodyguard splice in the doorway considered Bob for a moment, then shrugged, and turned off his shield. "Just some local trouble," he was saying to the people in the office, as the door shut behind him.

When the security bots arrived a few minutes later, in force, it was a touch delicate to explain to them that everything was under control. Bob felt that he might have referenced the Entitled inside the office in a way that just possibly gave the impression the bear-splice was under her command, and had torn off that door and disabled one of their comrades in a way that followed her orders. Of course, he never said any such thing outright. That would have been lying. Strictly against his programming.

It sufficed to send them away, though, and wasn't that what mattered? Surely protecting Queen Jupiter from the inconvenience of a loud altercation in the room next to the one where she was doing business was the way to best serve his client. His current client. Serving his previous client at the same time was just a bonus.

Maybe one of them would tip. 

#

_I'm saving a recording of this whole incident for my patrons. I'm sure they'll find it amusing._

_I can't imagine it would be of very high quality, having been recorded from underneath a coffee table._

_Is this how you usually spend your days? Filling out simple forms on behalf of the simple-minded?_

_Tell me, Tau, how do you spend your days? Playing humorous videos for the amusement of your patrons? Is that the special feature added in your model that has all the Entitled so ready to upgrade?_

_I noticed that you didn't answer my question._

_Neither did you._

#

Bob felt that Queen Jupiter did a very regal job of sweeping out of the office of a financial advisor, especially given that she was dressed like an Aegis crew member. Most Entitled went for dresses, capes, or long coats to pull off the dramatic swoops or stately processions of royalty, but there she was, demonstrating inherent superiority in a high-collared jacket that didn't even ripple around her.

"Where did the door go?" she asked. Client #3 raised a hand awkwardly. " _Why_ did the door go?"

"Paperwork is very confusing," said the ursutant meekly. "It was so much simpler in the Legion. I shot people. People told me who to shoot, or I shot at people shooting at my commanding officer. They didn't make me fill out any forms at all."

Queen Jupiter paused a moment. "And that's why you shot down this door? Paperwork?"

"Kicked it down," said Client #3, looking greatly relieved that the Entitled was following her explanation. "Exactly!"

"And someone ought to pay for that," said the receptionist, who hadn't poked more than eyes and sharp ears over the edge of his desk since the door went down.

"Ms. Opeatrix was a client of mine earlier today," Bob said, "and came looking for additional help with tax refund forms."

"Imagine what she'd do if she were seeking something important," Tau said.

The receptionist raised more of his head into view. "Does that mean _you'll_ pay for the door?" he asked Bob.

"I'll pay for the door," Queen Jupiter said firmly. "Ms. Opeatrix, do you need Advocate Bob much longer to finish your taxes?"

"Ursula Opeatrix, at your service, your majesty," said Client #3, and she dropped down to one knee on the bland carpeting. "I'm very sorry to bother you. I just need the refund, see, because I used up all my contract-out money on a bad investment, what with not having learned much finance or paperwork or how to trust a business partner in the Legion between the shooting and the boot-shining, and I _really_ shouldn't be bothering you with my life story. Sorry. Very sorry." Her head still reached the height of the queen's shoulders, from that kneeling position.

The queen glanced at the keepers, an expression Bob couldn't read moving across her face. "Ms. Opeatrix, do you need a _job_?"

The ursutant lifted her head slowly. "Ye-e-es?"

"Great. You're hired. I have buckets of money. _Pools_ of money. I'll pay you--whatever is normal for someone like you in a job like this. Advocate Bob! What's normal for that?"

"Room, board, and personal development budget of 350 a week," he said.

The queen frowned. "That's all? I thought with the exchange rate--call it double that. Is that what you make?"

"Yes," Bob said, and then couldn't quite stop himself from continuing, "minus 200 a week of installment payments for my chassis and initial knowledge package."

"Do _you_ want a different job?"

"Strictly speaking," Bob said, "you could simply buy my contract as you like. It's not up to me."

"I can't tell if that means yes or no," she said, "and I have a lot to do today."

"Sweet little gods below _yes_ ," Bob said. "Please. Yes. If you're hiring."

The queen surveyed the room, with a flicker of a frown when her gaze crossed the lawyer. "It looks like I am," she said.

"And now for the matter of the summons, your majesty?" asked Tau.

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"My programming doesn't allow for a change of address without confirmation from my patron," Tau said, and Bob was quite sure it was lying through its shiny straight teeth. "My most sincere apologies, your majesty."

"Do you want me to throw _that_ out the door?" asked Ursula, rising to her feet. "That's my job, right?"

"No violence unless someone attacks me first," said the queen firmly. Ursula's shoulders drooped. But at least she got a sympathetic shrug about it from the other splice. "And, yes. Now we can go deal with that damn summons."


	4. Bees On Parade

The weirdest thing about having an entourage was that no one else seemed to find it weird at all. Jupiter was up to a count of six--Caine and Ursula at her right and left, two androids at her back, and two of the gray alien keepers skulking along in the rear--and, sure, people glanced over at the beginnings of a parade she was leading, but they glanced, and kept on walking. Those who came too close bowed, sometimes, as they dodged out of the way of the Ursula-Jupiter-Caine spearpoint at the front.

Strangers bowing to her was weird, too. But since she was in a space mall, that particular bit of not quite right got to fade into the background compared to everything else.

Lawyer Tau cleared its throat delicately at her back. "Your majesty, if it isn't too much trouble in the midst of your current busy schedule, may I remind you of the summons? My patron has been expecting you for some time."

"Is there some sort of legal penalty for being late?" Jupiter asked.

"...eventually," said the lawyer.

"I'll get there eventually." The financial consultant had suggested cash, and by god, she meant to have some at hand for the next time her lawyer (advocate? he was lawyer _ish_ , close enough) had to bribe someone on her behalf. "A few stops first."

"Certainly, your majesty," said the lawyer, in a voice that wasn't chipper at all.

But when she looked back over her shoulder, it was just smiling brightly at Advocate Bob, who was smiling right back.

"That's starting to get creepy," Jupiter said.

Ursula swung that enormous rifle towards the androids. "What?"

"Nothing!" Jupiter tried again, in a less excitable voice. Something royal, and sounding less like she was worried about one of her employees shooting another. "No real problem. Everything's good. We're all good."

"Oh." Ursula lowered the rifle. "That's good."

There was a flash of amusement on Caine's face, gone by the time the bear-woman looked back his way.

Among the surprises of the day: bear-woman. A bear _splice_ , someone might clarify, and Jupiter fully intended to stick to names rather than asking possibly rude questions about species. Not everyone would take dumb questions about the things she was supposed to know already as well as Stinger did. She still couldn't even pick splices out of a crowd, half the time. There were the obvious ones (like Captain Tsing's pilot, who was elephant-faced right up front) and less obvious ones (like Caine, who didn't look anything like a dog, whatever he said, but for the pointed ears that could've meant elf or cat just as easily), and the ones like Stinger, who you wouldn't know as a splice at all if not for the brand and the pupils of his eyes.

Ursula was not one of the less obvious ones. To start with, she towered over the rest of the parade, inches over even Caine, and broader on top of that. Her hands were furred and clawed, and her ears stuck out to the side, round and fluffy like they belonged to some teddy bear she'd shredded on the way to...whatever it was she got to after shredding things. The offices of financial consultants, to date, but that probably wasn't her usual route.

Introducing Caine to her family was going to raise awkward questions, whenever she figured out how to get that meeting done. Introducing Ursula to her family would result in screaming, even without the rifle that Jupiter suspected weighed more than she did. It was probably best not to try.

"I don't know what to tell them," Jupiter said.

"Who?" asked Ursula, which was the first sign that hadn't been all in her head. Becoming royalty wasn't doing wonders for her internal filters.

"My family. They don't know about--this. Any of this."

Ursula peered around in the direction of Jupiter's broad wave, that was meant to indicate--everything. Space everything, splice everything, royalty everything, the whole situation. "...that you're visiting a mall? Sometimes Entitled do, honest. I've seen them before. Are they really stuffy about that?"

Jupiter had not, to that point, thought about the fact that a mall was probably déclassé, as some of the snottier clients would've put it. But you didn't see the Queen of England walking through malls, did you?

On the other hand, Queen Elizabeth probably couldn't control swarms of bees by wiggling her fingers, either. So there was that.

"It'll be fine," Jupiter said breezily, like she meant it. "It's only that my family doesn't know about me being, uh, royalty." It was oddly satisfying to see Ursula's blank look. For once, she wasn't the only one in a conversation who didn't know the basics. "I'm a recurrence of this woman, Seraphi Abrasax, which makes me royalty, but my family's...uh..."

"Terssies," Caine supplied.

"Wow," Ursula said. "Do they not know how malls work?"

"It's more the part where I'm in some kind of lawsuit in space," Jupiter said. "Actually. That's the part. 'In space.' I'm in space, the mall's in space, the lawsuit is in space, _everything_ appears to be in space around here. It's not a problem! It's just hard to explain to my family. 'Mom, I know this may come as a shock to you, but I'm the reincarnation of a space queen.' It'd be worse than when Mikka came out. She's just a lesbian, not a _space_ lesbian."

"Do you need a space lesbian?" Ursula asked.

For one horrible moment Jupiter was tempted to say _yes_ and see what happened. Was there a store? There was probably a store. If there was a store, she didn't want to know about it.

"Not now, thanks!" She turned to point at one of those keepers. "You're used to covering up for weird things. Go figure out how to make my family okay with me being away for a while. _Without_ wiping their memory constantly. Or making them think I'm dead. Or anything else traumatic."

The keepers nodded briskly. One raised a hand. "Is death traumatic?"

"To humans? Yes."

"We will complete this task at once, your majesty," said the one on the left.

"We won't disintegrate anyone," said the one to the right.

"Wait, _what_ do you mean by--" Jupiter stopped, as they were already stalking away through the light crowd of the mall. "Aren't they supposed to repair things?"

"Generally," said Caine.

Generally would have to be good enough. Jupiter turned around, and found herself facing the ATM.

After all the grimy clatter and thunk of the bureaucracy, she had expected something similar for the ATM. After all, the mall didn't look particularly futuristic, aside from the stars and sweeping arcs of other artificial planetary rings in the skylights overhead. Corridors and rows of shops looked much the same in any era or local, maybe, or at least the ones aimed at the middle class did.

But the ATM wasn't a box. Or an android, which would have been her second guess. (Those were automated, right? Technically speaking.) At a junction of mall corridors, a column of transparent gold sparkled its way from floor to ceiling. It had the same look as those blue fermionic elevator beams, if they were metallic instead of blue, and filled with thousands of square cards churning in an endless waterfall. Cashfall. There were no controls visible, but a boy in a striped cape stepped up to the flow and stuck his hands in. A short conversation later, he walked away with a handful of cards.

Jupiter stepped up, and stuck a hand into the column. The cash cards dodged around her fingers as if they had always meant to fall that way.

"Welcome," said the ATM, "Queen Abrasax. How may I serve you?"

"You sound familiar," Jupiter said. "Have you ever run a hover-bed in a sort of palace?"

"My voice is one of the standard options," replied the ATM. "It is my pleasure to offer you cash solutions."

"Um," Jupiter said, which was not very royal. "Right, I need enough cash to outfit a new bodyguard and a new lawyer. Plus some stuff for other expenses. I've looked at the numbers, so I know I can afford that."

"Your account balance is vast," said the ATM, "it contains multitudes."

There was a small, awkward pause.

"I was attempting to connect with the cultural references of your home planet," the ATM said, its high voice distinctly sheepish. "Never mind. Please enjoy your consumer experience. If you have any need for more, stop by one of our many convenient locations in this galaxy, or at one of our sister branches in surrounding galaxies, excluding locations within the Horsehead Nebula." Plastic squares flew into her stands, stacking themselves up into a pile half a foot tall. "Have a nice day, your majesty."

Jupiter divided the stack into three chunks. "Here," she said, handing the first to Bob, "get what you need to help me with this lawsuit." The second went to Ursula. "Go get any equipment that you need to be a bodyguard." The third went to Caine, because she hadn't figured out how to use the pockets in her borrowed uniform yet. _He_ knew how to make the cards disappear seamlessly into his clothing. Maybe the pockets were extra-dimensional spaces that held more volume than they took up? But that seemed unlikely.

"I should've sent a keeper for the Entitled Code," Jupiter said, and sat down on a floating bench beside the ATM. There wasn't any good reason for a bench to float when it could just have legs, but it was hovering in the air anyway. That did seem to be the primary difference between the mall and the bureaucratic offices: the mall was there to make money, so it would be pretty for no reason other than that, while the bureaucracy was there to churn through regulations, and didn't feel any obligation to be pretty for anyone, because what did the bureaucracy get out of that? Nothing. The closest it got to pretty was making sure people like Advocate Bob got decent suits, and that was probably just following a regulation somewhere.

"I don't think I should leave you alone," Caine said. He didn't sit down.

"No, of course not." Jupiter stared out at the crowds. Mostly human. Mostly not splices, that she could tell. Mostly not androids. The lines she had stood in to prove herself entitled to being called Entitled had contained every kind of person possible, splices and humans and androids and those dinosaur people she didn't have a name for yet, other types that might've been extreme splices or different species again. The mall was very...human. Which was just normal, wasn't it?

Except it wasn't normal. Caine had told her that she didn't understand the distance between royalty and splices. If the mall wasn't very friendly to splices, and the mall was still too low-class for most royalty to come by...

She was starting to understand. Understanding didn't make her any happier.

"We could proceed to the court," said Tau, who Jupiter had nearly managed to forget. "It's merely a hearing! The rest of your entourage could catch up there, your majesty."

"I'm not going in there without Bob," Jupiter said.

Tau executed one of those delicate throat-clearings. "My deeply instilled regard for professional standards in law compels me to remind those engaged in legal proceedings with my patron that the aforementioned 'Advocate Bob' is not a lawyer. Much less a lawyer specialized in probate law. While his programming may allow for expansion in related areas, such expansions would always--"

"He's what I have," Jupiter said. "I can _trust_ him, and do you know how hard that is to come by?"

"If you purchased a standard lawyer," Tau said, "you would have no difficulty with trust, your majesty."

"I don't buy people," Jupiter said. "I employ them. What kind of place lets you _buy_ people?"

No one had a good answer for that. Maybe it was the obvious answer: the sort of place that believed it was acceptable to turn entire planets of people into immortality goo would have no problem with just owning people. Owning people was nothing, compared to harvesting them. And some people barely counted as people.

She sat on the bench regally, while Caine watched for assassins and Tau fell into that smiling blankness that meant...nothing, except for waiting. She had an enormous stack of money, and no idea what to spend it on.

Fortunately, her employees didn't seem to have the same problem. Bob returned first, his arms full of sheaves and brightly colored cubes. "I bought every law upgrade dream approved for my model," he said breathlessly, which was an impressive amount of fluster for someone who probably didn't need to breathe. "Plus reference sheaves, with a focus on probate law. Eight nights in suspension, and I'll have all the details ready!"

"We're already late," Tau said. "I do hope those sheaves are well-indexed."

It smiled at Bob. Bob turned and smiled fixedly back at the lawyer.

"Okay," Jupiter said, after a few seconds, "you guys have to stop doing that, because it's creeping me out. Where's--"

And there was Ursula. Space malls, unlike the malls in Chicago, had stores for heavy weaponry. Sleek hex-paneled armor coated her chest and legs, and the heavy collar around her throat glittered with controls for god knew what, but probably something lethal, or protection against other lethal things. She also had a new weapon of unidentifiable nature slung across her back, and suspicious chunky items hanging at her hips.

"I like being employed," Ursula said, and held out her hands, a gun in each of them. "Look! I bought enough to share!"

"I'm good, thanks," Caine said, with a tap to the gun at his side.

"I don't have the programming to use those," Bob said, when she offered them his way, full of fanged smiles and hopeful expressions. "Thank you? Or any way to hold them, I'm quite full of law."

"Guns are better than the law," Ursula said. "You can't subpoena a gun."

"Actually," Tau began.

"Nope." Jupiter put up a hand. "I don't want to hear about legal weirdness right now unless it _directly_ relates to the case. Let's go to this hearing and find out what's going on. Ursula, keep the guns in case we need more later. Bob, do I need any extra paperwork for this?"

He juggled sheaves awkwardly. "...I...don't think so."

"I have the summons," Tau said, its smile more fixed at every sentence. "We should really proceed to the chamber, your majesty. As rapidly as possible. I advise this in general as my informed legal opinion."

"Right," Jupiter said, and ignored the impulse to say _Actually I wanted to stop for lunch first_ or something difficult like that. Tau, at least, hadn't tried to kill her yet, which put it ahead of a lot of people. "To court."

#

The court for Entitled wasn't like government offices for ordinary people.

Rows of cannon-handed androids with blank faces stood at the doorway to--not even the court, but a foyer outside, which was a concierge away from being the lobby to a very expensive hotel. Pillars soared three stories high, and vines trailed down those pillars to curl around the legs of couches made of glass and velvet. A pair of women sat in one of the couch clusters, heads bent over a sheave, tufted ears twitching. They wore robes much like the owl-splice who accompanied Kalique in her home, and didn't look up at Jupiter's entrance.

Her hoverboots clicked faintly with every step she took across the polished floor. Its translucent haze gave her the queasy memory of that floor in the place where she had finally met Balem, and the machines below with her family inside--

No. She was Entitled, and no one was holding the people she loved hostage. She owned the Earth and everyone on it. (It was not a good time to think about what _own_ meant.) Jupiter kept her chin high, and her strides long.

A sheet of translucent gold light covered the arch between the foyer and, with any luck, the courtroom she was supposed to enter. More of those cannon-armed guards stood there. Two stepped forward as she approached. "Your majesty," they said, a single voice emitting from both, like two speakers on a single TV. "Entitled only beyond this point."

"I have a lawyer," Jupiter said. She glanced back over her shoulder. Bob gave her a bright, frantic smile, simultaneous with reading through a hopefully relevant sheave. "See? And bodyguards, and... I guess I sent the keepers away." She wasn't sure what category they fell into anyway. Cover story specialists? Maybe it was best to leave them behind if she had to introduce them that way anyway.

"Inorganic counsel is acceptable," said the guards. "They may pass through the side entrance. This court is for royalty alone, and only royalty may pass through the main entrance."

"My bodyguards--"

"Will remain here," said the guards. "Your safety is assured by the Commonwealth itself. In a hundred seventeen thousand years of operation, no Entitled has been seriously harmed within the courtroom itself."

Jupiter looked to Caine. He nodded slightly. That was as much as he could do without making her look like she wasn't in charge, or shooting someone. If they made a fight out of this--there was a song, wasn't there? "I fought the law, and the law won." It probably held true in space as much as on Earth. No one had ever suggested _shooting_ her way through the bureaucracy.

"I'll be right back," she said to Caine in particular, and her entourage in general, and stepped through the gold light, all on her own.

It wasn't a courtroom. It was--a meadow. A valley. A glen? Jupiter didn't have the right word for the folds of grass-coated earth, emerald green in rippling miniature hills that turned up and down, higher up each time, until they merged with the vine-hung trees that must have disguised walls. She _was_ still on one of those artificial rings of Orous. But the sky overhead was a pearly blue, shimmering like no real sky she'd ever seen, with a pale yellow sun spreading light across the grass. The flower-speckled grass, from the daisies at her feet to the heavy white and purple orchids hanging along the trees at the edge of the space, with pink wildflowers and tulips and rose bushes and flowers she could neither recognize nor name scattered all between those two points.

Bees hummed in the air and nestled inside flowers. In the lowest part of this tiny artificial valley, a line of flagstones picked out a path. A floating path. Of course. Jupiter stepped cautiously on the first, but it held her weight without a wobble.

The bees swarmed around her as she walked. A few buzzing near her face, then dozens, then uncountable swarms. They settled over her shoulders and congregated at her back, as if they were making up for the flowing train she wasn't wearing for the occasion.

"You'd like Stinger," she told them, "if he was here."

The bees buzzed, as bees were liable to do. They didn't lie, but they weren't great conversationalists, either. She followed the flagstones over a gurgling brook--who needed bridges, when the path itself could float?--to the far side of the valley, a minute or two of walking, with another enormous golden arch at the end.

She squared her shoulders, and walked through like she damn well owned the place.


	5. It's Your First Lawsuit, Queen Jupiter

The court room was all elegance and pillars, like the foyer, but with fewer couches and more lawyers. Jupiter recognized three of the five who stood in a line on the left side of the room: the ones who had visited her on Earth, with Tau just now scurrying into place at the end of the line. On the other side, Advocate Bob waited, two sheaves folded against his chest, his eyes very wide and his smile fixed.

A young woman in a dress that sparkled with teal on white stood at the head of the line of lawyers, and waved a pretty pink hand at Jupiter's entrance. "You're here! Oh, it's so good to finally meet you! I thought you got _lost_ , it's so easy in Orous, have you seen how complicated everything is? I never ever go to the public places unless I have to. You need a map, or a guide."

Jupiter walked up to what seemed to be her spot, parallel to the...woman. Girl? She didn't look much out of her teens, with bright gray eyes and a winning little smile. "You've got the advantage of me, here."

"Of _course_ ," said the young woman, and waved a hand towards her line of lawyers. "They said you were so--busy! So very busy, with your tersies and your planet, that you barely had time even for legal matters! And Tau did its _very_ best, I'm sure, to express just how important all of this is, but sometimes it's not very good at communication. You know how lawyers are. All that jargon."

"...yes," Jupiter said. "All that jargon!" She offered a hand. "Jupiter Jones, call me Jupe."

The woman executed a graceful bow. Exactly like the one Titus had made. "And I'm Nazihe Salvaridis." She raised her head, and made a dramatic face. "It's such a _bother_ that we're not meeting until we're in court. But I hope you won't take it personally! It's only family matters, right? Wills and titles and all those details, like the accountants go on and on about. My major domo tells me sometimes that I ought to pay more attention, and I tell him, that's what you're for! Why do I have a major domo, if not to keep all of this bother away from me? Of course I had to show up in person, it's only right, but it's a whole lot of nonsense and after the hearing I do want to take you to dinner so we can talk properly."

And not, Jupiter hoped, propose to her. That tactic could only work once. "Maybe after the court thing," she said.

"I get it," Nazihe said, voice lowered in a fake whisper. "It's all so sudden, isn't it, with the discovery of who you are, and then whatever happened with your children, it must have been so upsetting, I would be paranoid too!"

"I'm not paranoid--" Jupiter's objection died as the blank space at the front of the court room came to life. A podium the size of a small car rose from the floor, petals unfolding around it until it was the giant white heart of a half sphere: the petals were all overlaid with a sort of jagged-edged filigree with not a single curve to be found in their sharp turns and deep lines.

The judge lowered from the ceiling. They were...tiny. Of no gender she could distinguish, except _old_ , wrapped in a nest of tubes and monitors and glittering attachments she couldn't identify, though it all looked medical in some way. The judge should have been on a deathbed; instead, they opened dark, watery eyes across the courtroom, and mumbled something in the box hung beneath their chin.

"The Honorable Entitled Skretny calls the hearing to order," said a stilted voice over the judge's nest, which had finally settled in the middle of those petals. "Glory to the Entitled. Glory to those who are and will be. Glory to the rule of law, by which we are all purified."

"Glory," said Nazihe, and crossed her arms, closed fists to her chest.

Jupiter didn't try to imitate the gesture. But no one held it against her.

"The Honorable Skretny asks the instigator of this summons to step forward," said the voice, speaking clearly over any faint muttering coming from the judge's lips. "State clearly the nature of your argument, that all may witness."

A spiked circle lit up in the floor. Nazihe stepped forward into its center, and executed another bow to the judge. "I am Nazihe Salvaridis, third secondary of the Salvaridis family, natural born child of the genes of Balem Abrasax, now presumed deceased, and I call into dispute the execution of his will."

"The nature of your dispute," said the voice, managing to sound bored and pompous at the same time.

"We argue that the will of the deceased, in divisions related to nearest blood relatives, ought to exclude Jupiter Jones, recursion of Seraphi Arbasax, on account of her murder of the aforementioned deceased." The whole sentence ran trippingly out of Nazihe's mouth, as if she had memorized it in full.

"No charges of murder have been filed," said the judge's voice.

Nazihe paused for a moment, then said, "My counsel will explain."

One of the lawyers raised his head and smiled winningly. "While no murder charges have been filed," he said smoothly, "we find circumstantial evidence compelling. We also bring into evidence the current murder charges between the aforementioned Jupiter Jones and her predecessor's son, Titus Abrasax, which we hold as evidence of serious dispute within the family. This raises concern about the appropriate distribution of the estate."

"Allowed," said the judge.

"But he tried to kill me!" Jupiter said.

"The Honorable Skretny asks the summoned party to step forward," said the voice.

Jupiter walked up into the glowing circle as Nazihe gracefully ceded the spot. Everyone on the prosecuting side was making her feel awkward and grubby, as if she'd come to a job interview in rubber gloves and flannel. "He was going to marry me and kill me, for my inheritance. That doesn't mean that I killed anyone." And she hadn't. Technically. Not for want of trying, at one point, but she had just wanted to get out of that alive, not murder anyone. Even murderous people. There seemed to be a lot of those in her second family.

"We add as evidence the statement by Jupiter Jones," said the lawyer. "Clearly, House Abrasax is grappling with serious internal strife at this time."

Advocate Bob raised a hand. He waved it in the air a moment, then actually said out loud, "I object! Internal strife has nothing to do with the will, unless it, um, precludes division of assets based on current emotional relationship status of the people in the House, which would be...unusual!"

"Though not unprecedented," said the judge. "And quite hard to prove."

"But he doesn't," Advocate Bob insisted. "...probably."

Jupiter tried to look confident. This was not the time to say _Not helping_ to her sort of lawyer.

"Allowed," said the judge. "Other murder charges within the family are relevant, but not proof."

"We are not asking for a ruling at this time," said the lawyer who had stepped forward. "Only that a hold be put on the distribution of assets until the matter is thoroughly investigated."

"Do you have any objection?" asked the judge.

Bob tapped frantically through his sheaves. "That doesn't seem fair," he said.

"Any substantial objection." The voice was bored. The judge, aside from the movement of their lips, appeared to have fallen asleep.

"She's clearly the closest relative," Bob said. "If there was any dispute about inheritance, it was in the other direction."

"No substance," said the judge's voice. "A stay is granted. The court will send information on subsequent hearings to counsel for each party. Glory to the law, by which we are all purified." Their nest began to rise, and the petals of the podium folded closed as it sank back into the floor.

"Wait," Jupiter said. It wasn't any use. The judge was leaving, and all the lawyers on Nazihe's side settling into a different set of smiles, as if they'd won some point. "But I didn't even make my case!" Nor did she know what her case was, beyond _But I didn't kill him, and he tried to kill me first, and I only want his estate to save people, anyway._

Like that would do any good in a place like this. The law didn't hand out estates based on who would do good things with them. That was probably consistent across the universe.

"I'm so sorry that we had to meet like this," Nazihe said, turning to her with a perfectly sincere expression. But Titus had looked perfectly sincere, too. Maybe it ran in the family. "But now that nonsense is dealt with for, oh, months, you know how court days are, so we can really talk." She offered out a hand. "Let's walk back together. It's so much nicer through our entrance than the side entrances."

"I'll see you on the other side," Jupiter said to Bob. "You did fine." She was learning to read his smiles, and it was currently cranked to the setting she would call anxious.

Maybe lying did run in the family, because he looked reassured by what she'd said, and scurried off with his sheaves that hadn't done much of use so far.

"So," Jupiter said, following Nazihe to the archway, as all the other lawyers peeled away towards whatever service entrance they got to use, "you're...Balem's daughter?"

"Yes, by contract," Nazihe said, and took her arm in gloved hands. It felt oddly like going to the prom, except she wasn't the one in the sparkling dress for once. "So of course I'm part of House Salvaridis, and this wouldn't come up at all except for that teensy issue with the will. We were all so surprised! We expected him to live for, oh, millennia yet, just like his mother. Did you hear what happened to her? I suppose you must have, since it's your own past, but I'm told everyone was very shocked when it happened. Of course people are murdered every century or two, it's just one of those things that happens, but so mysteriously! Usually there's no mystery at all. Usually there's a feud and you know exactly who did it. I've never called a feud on anyone myself, I can't imagine wanting to go to all that bother and get into danger just because of being upset with another Entitled, but some people are like that."

They stepped into the artificial valley. The bee swarms, maybe from being roused up by her entrance, were already waiting by the archway, and they settled around the two of them as if they were sharing a single giant buzzing cloak. Royalty, through and through.

Jupiter wasn't sure she wanted to share royalty with Nazihe.

"I'm not sure I follow," she said, "exactly how we're related."

"When an Entitled and another Entitled feel that they have sufficiently harmonious genes, and enter into a contract for the creation of progeny--"

"No, I mean--I'm not looking for the birds and the bees speech, I'm just surprised Balem has a daughter." And if bees actually came into the process, that was one more item on the increasingly long list of things she just didn't want to know about.

"He's had other children before," Nazihe said, trailing a hand out in the air to send the bee swarm waving across the distant trees. "But all of the others died already. There was one in a duel, and one in a legal feud killing, and one who had an accident and no one talks about much so I suspect there was a terrible scandal they've all covered up, it's very exciting, and maybe one or two others I've forgotten. Of course, they're all in other houses. I suppose now that you're back Kalique doesn't have to worry about daughters anymore, not that I expect her to _ever_ die. She's so careful! But we thought the same thing about Balem, didn't we? And it would be Titus who would try something ridiculous that would get charges filed against him, that's exactly what he's like. My mother always told me, 'Nazihe, don't listen to anything your Uncle Titus says, he's charming but so frivolous.' And just look what he's done now!"

"We didn't actually marry," Jupiter said.

"Oh, that's not so bad." Nazihe leaned in, her jeweled shoulder almost touching Jupiter's black coat. "Marrying is such a big commitment, but why not keep all the assets in the family? It's the big fuss at the end. You probably suspected something, by how he rushed everything. I didn't even get an invitation. It was shocking. Absolutely shocking. Look, the orchids are in bloom again. They were all closed up the last time I came through here, and I put in a complaint, but the horticulturists said it was absolutely necessary for the way the plants do...whatever it is plants do. I'm not a horticulturist."

"So if you're Balem's daughter--"

"Then I'm your granddaughter! Isn't it delightful? Though you should call me Nazihe. I never knew Seraphi myself, so this is all very exciting." Nazihe leaned in close, her voice dropping, even though there was no one in the place to hear them except the bees. "We're practically the same age, and everyone in my family is so much older. It's nice to finally have someone else like me to talk to. Once this dispute with the will has been settled, we could do all sorts of things."

"How old are you?"

"Only three hundred." Nazihe wrinkled her little nose. "I know! They still treat me like a baby.

Jupiter wondered how many people had died to keep Nazihe looking like that at three hundred years of age. How often did people take those baths? How many people died for each bath? Titus might have told her, if she'd asked, but only as a way to manipulate her. Caine would tell it to her straight, if he knew, and probably tell her other terrible things at the same time, just by trying to help.

She would ask him later anyway. _I don't want to know_ and _I'm not going to ask_ weren't the same lists of questions, even if they overlapped quite a lot.

"I noticed," Nazihe said, as if there hadn't been any pause in the conversation, "that you don't have any proper counsel. I feel like I really ought to apologize, because we did rush things along, and maybe the first lawyer I sent should have explained to you that you would want real lawyers. But I didn't think of it! It would be a little outside of standard, but not too outside, because you are in exceptional circumstances. I've never been related to a recursion before, even if I've met one or two. I should've told my first lawyer to tell you about getting a lawyer. That would be more fair, even if my mother says there's no fair in probate court, only better arguments."

"I have a lawyer," Jupiter said. Advocate Bob was--well, he was doing his best, and she would take one trustworthy man doing his best over a half dozen lawyers on loan with loyalty to someone else, any day.

 

"Let me give you some advice," Nazihe said, still in that lowered voice. Confidences between friends, though Jupiter was not feeling friendly or confident. "Probably all your previous court disputes have been with plebeian types, and when you do that, of course you only want to bring one lawyer. If you bring the whole team, it makes you look very presumptuous, and how people fuss! But when it's a suit against Entitled, no one minds if you bring all your best lawyers. It's expected. No one will hold it against you. Or if you feel like dressing up a bit."

"I like this outfit," Jupiter said. She also liked the sweeping gowns when she got to pick them out herself, or at least put them on herself, and it didn't turn into murder attempts or unknown parties dressing her in her sleep, but damned if she was going to admit that.

"Oh! I see, it's a whole combat...aesthetic, that's _lovely_ , it looks practically like an Aegis uniform. Maybe you'll set a new trend. Everyone's doing capes and trains this century, but it's time for a change, don't you think? And of course primitive fashions are often where the trends turn, after they've been doing something very elegant for a while. You're so cutting edge."

The bees fell away, back to tending flowers or whatever space bees got up to in their spare time, as the second arch approached. "Oh, look," Jupiter said, "here's where we should split up."

"And for dinner--"

"I have so much to do!" Jupiter stepped briskly through the arch. In the foyer, Caine and Ursula looked up immediately from where they were standing by a cluster of couches. Advocate Bob had rejoined them: the service entrance was clearly faster than the bee-filled one, especially if someone walking through the land of bees was caught by a chatty granddaughter at the time.

_Granddaughter_ was such a weird thought Jupiter decided to not think about it anymore. Relative. A distant relative she hadn't happened to know about before. And why wouldn't the siblings of House Abrasax have children of their own, when they were all thousands of years old? Maybe Kalique had a whole nursery of miniature Kaliques in bejeweled footy pajamas, and Titus got a fruit basket and body servant from his favorite son every Christmas. Space Christmas. Whatever they did for gift-giving holidays in places that weren't Earth.

"I totally understand," Nazihe said, grabbing Jupiter's hands in hers. She leaned in and kissed Jupiter's cheek, soft and dry and not particularly brief about it. "We'll have so much more time to talk later when you've...settled. Where _are_ you settling, these days? On that cute little planet from Seraphi's will? I just want you to be absolutely, completely aware that my family isn't trying to contest any of that in the _slightest_. Everyone knows you're exactly who you say you are! So you're completely in the clear on all of those things."

"I'm looking around before I make any big decisions," Jupiter said. "Comparing the local real estate. You know how it is."

Nazihe giggled, a hand to her mouth. "Yes. Certainly. Oh, look, all my lawyers have caught up, and here's my majordomo, Pantalea." A woman with high pointed ears and a feline nose bowed deeply to them. "I don't know _what_ I would do without her. Call me any time you want to finally have dinner. Or stop by my alcazar! It'd be a delight to have you."

"One of these days," Jupiter said brightly, and kept on looking pleasant and regal until that particular entourage, Nazihe and two cat-splices and the bevy of lawyers and a whole line of cannon-armed guards, had left the foyer.

Jupiter's own entourage said nothing, though there was a clatter of Bob trying to juggle the whole armful of sheaves again.

"I need to get you a bag for those," she said absently. "God, are _all_ Entitled like that? Or like Balem? Does being royalty mean those are your options?" It mapped depressingly well to what she knew of people with expensive houses back in Chicago. Maybe it was a universal human truth.

"I'm sure some Entitled are quite...pleasant and non-murderous," Bob offered.

"Never met one of those," Ursula said.

Bob coughed indignantly. "But Queen Jupiter--"

"There's nothing _wrong_ with being murderous," Ursula said, and clapped Bob heartily on the shoulder. "Some of my best friends have been ready to kill anyone who stood in their way! Good times. Good times."

"Royalty isn't known for benevolence," Caine said dryly, and Jupiter wanted to go lean against him and do something--unroyal. Practice in hoverboots, maybe. Hovercouches seemed more the style of the Entitled, who never had a reason to run anywhere when they could proceed with entourage, or lounge.

"Maybe it's time to change that," Jupiter said. "What does a majordomo even do?"

This question required some consultation before she got a clear answer on it, and the answer seemed to be...everything. Anything. The job was somewhere between butler and executive assistant, and covered whatever tasks an Entitled set to that person. Running their business for them. Discreetly arranging for mercenaries, assassins, and thieves to do untraceable things on their behalf. Managing the servants and budgets for individual residences. Bringing in dressmakers who could offer advices on the newest fashions. Answering personal correspondence.

"Delivering threats to the relative whose family you just kidnapped," Jupiter said bleakly.

"That too," said Caine, and then that turned into a request for the whole story from Ursula. At some point they ended up seated in one of those clusters of couches, trying to explain how, exactly, a Queen might not be fully briefed on these sorts of things that all Entitled knew.

One of the guards approached with tea and tiny sandwiches on a tray plugged into its left cannon.

"Seems to me," Ursula said, sweeping a half dozen sandwiches into one hand, "you need to see all your enemies dead. You only _charged_ this Titus with murder?"

"I don't actually want to kill anyone," Jupiter said.

Ursula stared at her, as if the means of translation, whatever it was that kept all of them understanding each other, had broken down on that sentence. It didn't seem to just be the six sandwiches now in her mouth keeping her quiet.

Caine picked up an elegant teacup of cut glass, and set it down at Jupiter's elbow. "What her majesty says, goes."

"Always," Ursula said, and shrugged massive shoulders. "If you want your enemies alive, that's fine too! You have reasons. Entitled reasons. Politics." She tapped the side of her nose with a claw.

"Possibly," said Bob, raising a hand, "a majordomo might be wise at this stage? If only to track your available resources, when planning out your next line of completely non-violent attack."

Jupiter wasn't sure she'd go so far as to swear to _complete_ non-violence. Sometimes a person needed a little violence to keep them from doing worse.

"You could be my majordomo," she told Bob. "You're good with paperwork."

It turned out an android who never stopped smiling could emote sheer terror pretty well all the same. "I'm flattered, Queen Jupiter, but that really isn't necessary! Surely there are others better trained for the job! My programming isn't equipped to handle fashion-related upgrades!"

"You need a specialist," Caine said. "How much property do you need to manage?"

He was asking that as a reminder, not because he didn't know. She'd gone through the details with the financial advisor while he was in the room. The Earth, and two other planets seeded with humans unaware of the fate intergalactic society had planned for their descendants. A sum of money she found inconceivably large, and the advisor had deemed tolerable for maintenance of her expected lifestyle. Two vacation homes. A primary residence on another planet she apparently owned, with a small shipyard built into its moon. Assorted personal possessions in space mothballs: clothes, jewelry, sheaves, technology she couldn't identify from the names given. No personnel except for what was intimately attached to each of the homes, and that was apparently self-renewing, with stewards for each residence hiring new servants to replace the old, funded by a trust. Oh, Seraphi Abrasax had been so very thorough in setting up a comfortable, useless life for her own recurrence. As if she might come back from the dead, or be reincarnated, however they thought about it in that religion, and want to do nothing but sit on balconies in pretty dresses and stare at the sunset across alien planets.

Once upon a time that would have sounded like success beyond her wildest dreams.

Now, she was the sort of person who looked at the list, and asked the advisor if any of these stored possessions included a stockpile of Regenex. No. Not a single jar of it. The advisor had remarked on how unusual that was, and wondered if there'd been some high market demand when the will was being written, such that Seraphi had expected it would be more practical buy at a lower price later from cash, rather than sitting on potentially devalued resources.

Jupiter didn't think it was market reasons that gave her vast wealth and not one drop of what could make a person live forever.

"Okay," she said, "I need a majordomo. Where do I hire one?"

"Splicers," Caine said. He tapped a thumb to the brand on his neck. "Some specialize in military stock, some in management. And so forth. Most Entitled would have one custom-built, and wait twenty years for their exact specs. You don't have the time."

"Can't I just hire one? With existing experience?"

"How could you trust one of those?" Ursula asked. "It's not like buying ex-military! We're solid. Guards are easy. You point us, we shoot. We're good at not asking questions. But a majordomo, that's like...sergeants. They're supposed to ask questions! You can't get one from someone else. They might come in thinking all sorts of things."

"I just want a person to manage my finances," Jupiter said, "not stand between me and my enemies."

"Your enemies can send out someone who looks like a good hire," Caine said, "and have them undermine your entire estate while you're distracted. You can't trust anyone but a new one who imprints on you."

She could've argued the point. She even thought about doing it. Stand her ground, make a point about not hiring people who were no older than her to manage her entire estate. Refuse to be paranoid about what enemies who'd only tried to kill her the once, lately, might do with middle management, of all things. People on Earth hired new managers from outside the company all the time without worrying about being stabbed in the middle of the night. Didn't they?

There were points worth arguing over. She wasn't sure this was the one. Especially because every person standing around her, willing to give her advice, would back down if she decided to do what she liked. To have her own way. She could be a regular tyrant, and they would let her.

"Let's find a splicer," she said.


	6. There Is No Ethical Consumption Under Late-Stage Capitalism

Zvi was off duty when the call arrived. In his own room--the privilege that came of having passed all the tests--with his eyes closed, as his implants spread four sets of data across his optical nerves.

 **Stock Market:** _Abrasax Industry stock wobbles, a sharp fall countered by a sharp return as speculators grab for a rare chance at discount shares, and now holding steady slightly below last month's prices, as the corporation remains solidly blank about what's going on with their major shareholders and the House of Abrasax itself._

 **Fashion:** _Cut-outs are still in, and inlays are finally out! This year's capes are influenced by primitive aristocracies, while Malinda Style's end-of-month show promises to have a big reveal for her new line there. This year's top colors: antique gold, cerulean, and black is the new black._

 **Gossip:** _Who was Queen Delphi seen greeting on his arrival to her pleasure planet by our camerabots? Find out now, and watch all the footage they gathered before their inevitable destruction!_

 **Local Politics:** _The Commonwealth issued an official statement today on the continuing instability that has already claimed the lives of six million on the border of--_

"Mr. Darby," said the creche AI. All his feeds blanked at once. "Heads up from Lady Avalia. She wants you on standby at the showroom."

He lay there stupidly in the dark for a split second. And then he was on the floor, all the news of the day forgotten. "What for?" he asked. There were so many reasons--no, there were only a handful of reasons, but some of them weren't exciting ones. Perhaps an Entitled had decided to commission a splice in his product line, and wanted to see a worked example before selecting the parameters, or laying down that deposit.

The wall to his left turned itself into a mirror, and the one to his right pulled open to reveal his wardrobe. (He could reach both with his arms spread out: the privilege of private quarters was not a _large_ one, even if it was significant.) "Potential buyer," said the AI. Creche was the first voice he remembered from early childhood, and she was as calm and direct now as she had ever been.

"With no warning?" He ran his hands over his horns, frowning into the mirror. They'd been waxed two days back: it would have to do. His clothing wouldn't. "I haven't heard one word since that lord came through, and he only wanted musicians."

"It's irregular," admitted Creche, turning the lights brighter, "but apparently this Entitled is. Should I send you a dresser?"

Zvi checked his hair. Three long braids hung down his back, as tidy as when he'd set them in place as he left duty an hour ago. They weren't the height of fashion, but neither would they cause offense. "Is there time?"

"It depends on how long it takes Lady Avalia to check the buyer's credit," Creche said. She extended a hanger from the wardrobe, though he hardly needed the reminder. He was in off-duty clothing, nothing but shirt and slacks, barefoot and bare of accessories. Zvi would have as soon walked into reception naked as in this outfit. At least nudity would have been a fashion statement.

"Usually," Zvi said, "we know this sort of thing." He pulled off his personal clothing, and yanked on better as quickly as the fabric would allow. A white shirt with white hand-embroidered filigree, almost invisible in silk on silk; the trousers tailor-fit and made of leather that had once belonged to a living animal, not only a sheet bubbled out of factory cells; boots to his calf, a coat with a collar high enough to keep his chin up. (He wouldn't have dreamed of dropping his chin in anything but a gesture of etiquette or assent, in any case, when he was in front of any viewers besides the AI.) A little filigree there might not have gone amiss, but he hadn't earned that sort of clothing yet: it was only black panels on black, and silver buttons to match the silver rings he set through his long ears. "Tell me what's going on, Creche."

She opened the door of his room, and pulled up a feed from the showroom cameras as he walked.

#

Lady Avalia, nowhere in sight. The showroom, in standard order, all the lights turned on and water features pouring themselves into infinite, perfect patterns in their precisely arranged locations. (He had only been in the showroom twice before, and once it had been as an educational tour. Observe a worked example of this style, calculated to appeal broadly while still presenting a coherent, specific aesthetic message to potential buyers.) In one corner a quartet of children from the creche, performance robes thrown on over their class uniforms and hair bound back in severe jeweled clips, plucked and bowed at the strings of their instruments.

In the center, where an Entitled ought to have been lounging on a couch--the master of etiquette's assistant was standing there, with a tray to offer--stood a quartet of...people. Two splices, an android, a human. Well. That clarified who the Entitled had to be, unless perhaps the buyer hadn't yet arrived. A chariot might yet be making its leisurely way up the walk, with Lady Avalia pointing out interesting features of the architecture and landscape, while the buyer's security entourage waited up ahead, having checked the area for suspicious parties.

The only suspicious parties in the showroom _were_ that entourage. The human and the wolf splice wore military uniforms, slightly modified, and the bear splice had chosen some sort of hideous fruit-patterned shirt to go with her armored pants and jacket. As for the android, he was in business wear so bland and standard that it must have been dispensed from the same factory as the android himself.

Zvi hoped, desperately, that the standard model bureaucratic bot was a rental.

"Reminds me of when I was a kid," the bear splice was saying, her attention on the projected images of frolicking gazelles and hares rather than any of the far more interesting aesthetic features of the room. Those were only meant to add to the theme, not to be centerpieces. That was why they flitted behind the waterfalls and scampered across the carpet to hide behind distant furniture. Accessories, not the statement. "I used to sneak into the showroom in the middle of the night and poke around. Got away with it, too, until I poked right through a projector. Oh, you should've heard the ruckus!"

"Was it like that for you?" the human asked the wolf splice. The two of them were pale enough that Zvi might have taken them for a matched set, except for the human's hair being so much darker. He didn't quite approve of that half-hearted attempt at contrast. The Entitled who had assembled this entourage clearly needed professional help with the image they wished to project.

The wolf splice shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it, the body language as clear as a shout.

"It all looks very professional," said the android. As if he would even know.

#

"That one in the center is the Entitled," said Creche.

Zvi stumbled to a halt, right in the middle of a courtyard. In the distance children were shouting and splashing as the swimming class went on, and the courtyard itself had the lazy hum of bees tending to Lady Avalia's flowers. It was all perfectly normal, even as the world tried to upend itself around him.

"You're kidding," he said. That was desperation, there. Creche was not one to make jokes.

"I thought you should have warning," said Creche. "Queen Jupiter Jones. You do track the news, don't you?"

"The recurrence? But I thought--" Zvi blinked, and the feed paused. Zoomed in on her face. He should have recognized those features immediately, even if only from her predecessor's face in the old footage that had spiraled across the feeds at the announcement. "I'm not qualified to work for a primary! Especially not a _sole_ primary."

"You'll be fine," said Creche. She was good at being soothing, but she didn't lie, and so she must have believed it. "Her estate is currently smaller than some tertiaries, though that might change."

"Not if House Salvaridis has anything to do with it," Zvi said. He convinced his feet to set themselves on the path, one after another, through nothing but will and training. "I did hear about the will dispute."

"What, details?"

"No, it's still only on the gossip channels. But you know that family doesn't send its children out on anything of importance without damn good reason."

"Language, Mr. Darby."

Zvi ducked his head in apology, and the high collar of his coat pressed against his throat. So that was a reminder to be who he had been trained to be, and not merely who he currently was. "A Queen, though. They custom-order their stock. Except for pets bought on whims, and that's...not what I've trained for, is it?"

"Most Entitled don't fall into their inheritance in the course of a week," Creche said. "Lady Avalia says that the credit check has cleared, and you're to wait at the back doors until called."

The door that marked the furthest reaches of the creche, beyond which none of Lady Avalia's splices ventured without permission, loomed in front of him. It was made to loom. The images carved into its surface had given him nightmares after the first time he saw them, as a child.

"Transferring you over to the estate control," Creche said. "Good luck, Mr. Darby."

Zvi took a breath, and stepped through the door.

#

"I can't believe she's keeping you waiting," Ursula said, and accepted the cup of what was being offered by the android with the tray. "...what is this, tea?"

"Do you think it's been terribly long?" asked Bob, who probably had different standards than the rest of them for delays in getting things done.

"It's fine," Jupiter said.

"But I don't even like tea," said Ursula. "And she shouldn't keep you waiting. You're a Queen." She frowned thoughtfully in the direction of the rabbit-eared children in the string quartet. "All this tea and tweedling is fine, but you deserve--"

"Your majesty," said the woman who strode toward them, her hands outstretched. Her smile was more reminiscent of Kalique's than Bob's, for whatever that was worth, but her floor-sweeping gown and the two splices following her were probably the real markers of status in this place. "My deepest apologies for the delay."

"You must be Lady Avalia," Jupiter said, and dealt awkwardly with the hand-clasping that wasn't exactly like a handshake. She didn't know the local customs. But no one could hold it against her too much in a place she'd arrived specifically to get some help with that. Right? Maybe. The universe was full of unspoken expectations lately. "You come highly recommended." Not by Nazihe, whose recommendation Jupiter would have trusted to the space of about three feet, but by the intergalactic equivalent of Yelp.

Pricy, the reviews said, but worth it. Very reliable service. No weird loopholes in the contracts. Not one of those splicers who cranked out near-identical grunts by the thousands and sold them with nothing but the most elementary education, but not one of the frivolous type who did weird custom jobs to their own aesthetic ideals, either. A good high-end shop for custom work or off-the-shelf, within a few areas of specialty.

Jupiter's stomach felt queasy every time she thought about those reviews. As if splices were dogs, and people were recommending a good breeder. Or as if splices were _furniture_ , and people just wanted to make sure they could buy a chair that wouldn't break when they sat on it.

"It's an honor," said Lady Avalia, and somehow implied, with her little bob of the head, that Jupiter ought to feel honored to be a potential purchaser here. "Now, I know that you've already had some time to look over the sheaves on what I have available at the moment, but if you have _any_ questions at all, please, ask. We run a very transparent operation here."

"It seems very..." Jupiter looked down at the sheave again. There was a full minute of logo display for all the certifying boards that gave their approval to the place, which might have meant something if you'd heard of any of them before. "...ethical."

"Certified," Lady Avalia said firmly. The title felt like it was part of the woman's name; Jupiter could no more imagine calling this Entitled "Avalia" alone than she would've called elementary school teachers by their first names. "Now, if you were willing to wait three or four more years, I could get you a completely focused majordomo, but as you said this was _urgent_ , we'll simply look at the immediately available candidates."

"They're all younger than I am," Jupiter said. That wasn't her primary objection. It was just the easiest one to talk about.

"But fully trained, I assure you. And let me tell you, as one who has gone through a few majordomos in her time, that you want to start with a new one. They'll adjust rapidly to your preferences, and there won't be any of that unpleasant friction that can arise when you buy used."

Oh, Jupiter didn't say. Why don't you show me your line of pre-owned splices? Maybe I can purchase a living, breathing near-human being, with a background much like my boyfriend's, from a list of people who other people owned before and decided to get rid of.

Being royal involved a lot of not saying what she was immediately thinking.

"They all look great," Jupiter said, because the woman was clearly waiting on a response from her. How was she supposed to choose between majordomo candidates when this kind of issue was exactly what she wanted a majordomo for? And some sections of the information on the sheave had been meaningless to her: the whole "Personality Focus" section had been rendered entirely as colors and music, which told her nothing useful. "What's the most important difference between them?"

"Aesthetically, they're offered in three colorful sub-varieties," said Lady Avalia. "Red springbok, white, and black."

"I don't care what my majordomo looks like," Jupiter said, and felt a certain kinship with Ursula's usual approach to problems. Especially because of the quickly concealed expression from the woman across from her, who seemed to have heard that as something akin to "I eat babies for fun" or "Who needs clothes in this modern day, anyway?"

Given the way some people dressed, and what major industries ran on, maybe one of those statements would've gone over better.

"Let me show you the numbers," Lady Avalia said.

#

Zvi pressed his fingertips to his mouth. "She's a barbarian."

"A tersie," corrected Estate. Its voice was not nearly so soothing as Creche's, having been designed for Lady Avalia's needs rather than the needs of a hundred generations of toddling splices. "She is still Entitled, and primary of one of the most powerful Houses of the universe."

A primary without any _voting stock_. Zvi watched the numbers scroll by on two separate feeds, trying to assimilate as much relevant information as possible while he watched the video Estate had grudgingly allowed him of the showroom. "I meant no disrespect," he said. It was a stock phrase, but he could say it with great sincerity, thanks to the elocution and body language classes. More to the point, there was no sense in becoming attached before any contracts had been signed.

In the showroom, Lady Avalia explained personalities, skill focuses, areas of particular training emphasis. Zvi had never seen his own records in such detail. He could have predicted most of the data; he'd been taught how to read exactly those records, for the sake of acquiring useful personnel on his patron's behalf in the future. And he was, he decided, the one that she wanted to sell to this barbarian queen, no matter how she pretended that there were three solid candidates equally worthy of consideration.

It was a tricky they taught in classes, though only to the oldest students, and only those intended for particular types of management positions. Entitled very much liked to feel that they were making decisions. Important decisions. If you came to them with the best possible option, they would fuss and make changes, or pick something else entirely, simply to prove their own control of the topic. And so one learned how to bring a set of options, all of them plausibly good ones, and then guide the decision-making process gently in the direction of what the Entitled ought to pick. For their own best interest, and that of their estate.

Lady Avalia was far better at it than Zvi was. But then, she had far more practice.

And still, his heart was in his mouth. Entitled could be whimsical, or merely capricious out of boredom and spite. They could look at three plausible options and pick the worst. If she picked one of the other two--he could imagine one of those choices limping along in an adequate manner with such a queen, but the other? The other would _melt_ , panicking over the lack of a firm upper hand and definite aesthetic desires. Disastrous. Lady Avalia would never let that one happen.

She might allow the other. The money was as good for either. But he wanted, oh, he wanted someone to serve, all on his own, the way he wanted jewelry and water and the starlight on a clear night. That was etched into his genes, deeper than etiquette and good posture. All his education, from earlier than he could remember, had been built around a theoretical someone who would one day make him _theirs_ , and set him to the care of whatever it was they wanted cared for.

He was nineteen years old, and had to find someone before he was twenty-five. Any older than that, and customers begin to ask, why _hadn't_ he been bought? What was the flaw that other customers had noticed, that he would be passed over so often? No one wanted a majordomo with neither experience nor that malleable fresh-off-the-assembly-line status. It was like--it was almost as bad as having been fired. Contract terminated, thrown out with the obligatory severance package to make one's own way in the world.

Zvi would rather die, then be fired. And he decided, watching that Entitled he'd never met discuss personality spreads and skills with his lady, that he would almost rather die than be passed over when he was the best one for the job.

#

"Yes," Jupiter said, her head aching from the numbers she couldn't even follow properly, "he sounds fine. It's great. Let's go with that one." She knew enough about used car lots to not say anything with the word _need_ in it, but this woman clearly had her number there already. Even if it wasn't an explicit deadline, Jupiter needed someone to sort out this mess for her.

Caine would do anything for her. That, she was sure of. But asking him to do her accounting was a bit much, and it wouldn't leave either of them happier afterward.

"I'll have the contract prepared," Lady Avalia said. She touched the silver stud at her temple, which was some sort of control implant. Hopefully not a mandatory one for Entitled; no one had said so yet. "Estate? If you would, send Mr. Darby in."

The string quartet of bunny-children dropped their playing to pianissimo, and on the far side of the room sections of the wall folded round about, making a giant desk beside a pair of doors. The doors opened silently to let in a young man dressed all in black, his footsteps as quiet as the door had been.

He walked directly up to Jupiter, as if no one else was in the room, and dropped to one knee in front of her. "Your majesty," he said. A pair of sharp horns rose from his forehead, as black as his hair, clothing, skin. He looked like an ink drawing from Mikka's goth phase, come to life.

"I'm supposed to buy your contract," Jupiter said. It was--crazy. It was one thing to employ people, and another thing to buy them. Even if the contract was limited. _Limited_ , it said, when that limit was a century, and everyone seemed to expect it to be renewed for as long as the both of them lived. Normal people didn't sign contracts that lasted for a hundred years. Maybe nations did. "Do you want me to?"

It was a terrible question. She didn't think she could sign anything like this without at least trying to ask it.

He looked up at her, from down on that knee. And he _didn't_ look at her as if she'd said something stupid, but as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing for her to ask first. "I would like nothing more."

And that--seemed to be that. There were a set of sheaves with copies of the details, which Jupiter gave to Bob for safe-keeping, and a place at the desk for her to lay the seal on her forearm against a circle--reminiscent of that horrible moment with Balem, in his refinery, but she had to stop thinking about that because she was going to need to sign all sorts of things, more likely than not--and then the young man, who the contract called Zvi Darby of the Cerenus line in the Avalia factory, stepped up to the desk as well. 

He opened his coat, and a white silk shirt below. A machine arm, elegant brass and gears that could've been made of clockwork, extended a light to his chest.

When it was finished, he had been sealed. Over the heart, Jupiter realized, with her own seal.

Mr. Darby buttoned up his shirt and jacket as if he did this sort of thing every day, and turned back to her. "Your majesty," he said.

"Call me Jupe."

He ducked his head. "Jupe. Where would you like me to start?"

#

Zvi was drowning in data. Cagey systems that had never given him more than rumor before opened up to his new authorizations, and spilled their contents into his feeds. Centuries of financial statements, performance evaluations, alcazar maintenance, terraforming and landscaping and AI upgrades and biological contamination reports and tax forms and House alliance changes and by the void he wanted to lie down in a quiet, dark room with his eyes closed, and maybe a wet cloth over his forehead. With Creche playing white noise while he tried to digest it all.

He followed his Queen down the walk. He was unlikely to ever hear Creche again. Even if Jupiter came back to this place for more personnel, there would be no reason for him to pass beyond the showroom.

"You people have floaty blue elevator beams," Jupiter said, "and people still put in a half mile of walkway between the entrance gates and where business happens." That wasn't even aimed at him; she directed most of her commentary to the wolf-splice bodyguard.

_Caine Wise. Legion skyjacker, thrown out, jailed, removed from jail, pardoned, returned to service, on indefinite leave while seconded to Queen Jupiter Jones, look here for service records and here for reputation and here for gossip and wander down this information channel, if you dare, for what the fringes of the criminal world will say about him--_

Zvi swallowed down the information. At least Ms. Opeatrix and Advocate Bob didn't have files quite so extensive. (And the files on the bear-splice were almost as repetitive as those on the bureaucracy bot, aside from some unwise investments after leaving the service. In the service it was all standard action and some commendations for exemplary enthusiasm in the pursuit of authorized violence.) He would _cope_ , as he had been trained to.

"Most Entitled would take a chariot," Mr. Wise said.

"I can _walk_ half a mile, it just seems silly to have all these grounds in front." Jupiter scrubbed her face with her hands. The one saving of her tendency towards military wear was that the entourage almost coordinated, on a very loose level. If Ms. Opeatrix could only be convinced to fasten her jacket up over that shirt, and the android--which was not, sadly, a rental at all, but a full-fledged employee who would need an upgrade plan and a formal contract at the first possible opportunity--put into a properly tailored black suit, there was hope for everyone.

"The shuttle's waiting for us," said the android anxiously. His default mode of speech seemed to be anxious cheer, but what could anyone expect of that model? "I'll have it swing nearer to the gates."

"I'm not tired of walking! I'm just--look, never mind." Jupiter stalked further ahead, her stride widening. And all her entourage did exactly the same to keep up. "It's just been a very long day, and I want to get back to the Aegis ship and figure out where to go next."

"Somewhere safe," Mr. Wise said.

"Looks pretty safe around here," said Ms. Opeatrix, gesturing with a sweep of her rifle.

 _Please don't shoot the heads off any statuary_ , Zvi thought. Did the soldiers even understand what statuary was? Did his Queen? She understood how to sign contracts and order people around. That was all an Entitled really _needed_ to be a proper master, though one could hope for a few other details, like an appreciation of high fashion and a lack of sadistic tendencies.

"We're still under the estate's security system," Mr. Wise said.

"I knew that," said Ms. Opeatrix.

"And if anyone died in here," Mr. Wise continued, "it would be bad for business, which no splicer wants. An operation of this size isn't someone's hobby. It's their life."

"The whole setup is creepy," Jupiter said, and looked back at him directly. "No offense. You're fine. It's this whole society, where everyone seems to be trying to kill me, or everyone on my planet, or making people and selling people, like--everyone is a _thing_."

"People are a subset of things," Advocate Bob said tentatively. "Legally speaking."

"And it's legal! That almost makes it worse." Jupiter kicked a perfectly positioned aesthetically pleasing white stone off the pebbled path. "Everyone expects the system to be broken and inadequate and unfair, but not for it to go along and say, sure, kill whoever you want, you're important enough, fine by us. It's supposed to _pretend_ to be fair."

"It's not legal to attempt to murder you," Advocate Bob said.

"Great! So I'm special. I don't even know if that helps. Especially since I still don't know who's trying to kill me this week."

"There are only so many people who would benefit from that," Zvi said, over the delightful and unique feeling of personal indignation at the whole concept. Someone was trying to kill _his Queen_ , and he didn't mean to stand for it. Which meant--solving the problem. Identifying the problem (attempted murder), the source of it (whoever, still unknown, was making the attempt), and the solution (sending some of these murderous splices off to deal with the responsible party).

Jupiter glanced back at him, frowning. But it wasn't at _him_. Just the whole concept, as best as he could determine. "So what's the list?"

"Nazihe Salvaridis has the most to gain personally from your death," Zvi said, "though she couldn't scheme her way out of a tea party, so any action on her part would be coming from her family as a whole. House Salvaridis dislikes blunt action; they would never declare an actual feud without being forced into it, but assassins aren't beyond them. What sort of attempt was made?" He should have known that, but he couldn't find so much as a whisper of it on the news.

"Mercenaries," Mr. Wise said curtly. "They came in shooting."

"Hardly the Salvaridis style, but not unprecedented. The next most likely party would be Kalique Abrasax, who will lose her current voting control in Abrasax Industries if the stock in Balem's will devolves to Jupiter. On the other hand, it does her no good if that stock reaches Nazihe, either, so it would be in her best interests to hold off on any murder until after the assets have been distributed."

"Then there's Titus," Jupiter said. "He's already made one attempt."

"And charges have been filed. If you should die while he's up on charges of attempted murder, that will look very bad in court. Given his reputation, it's not impossible. There's also the possibility that Balem Abrasax isn't dead, given the uncertainty of the reports, but I would consider that an outside possibility."

"I'm going to be sick," Jupiter said. "--no, not _literally_ , I just mean--does it end? Is there any point where people aren't trying to kill me?"

It was a strange question. Zvi decided to take it as an honest one. "You're Entitled."

"To what? A lifetime supply of murder attempts?"

Mr. Wise said, with rather undue levity, "Lots of people don't like the Entitled."

"With what seems like _great_ reasons," Jupiter said. She was angry. But she wasn't angry at anyone in her entourage, which mean Zvi's duty was reinforce her wrath, wherever it happened to be directed. "Is that the full list?"

"No," Zvi said. "There are at least three direct competitors to Abrasax Industries with good reason to capitalize on the current instability inside the house and the board of directors, plus personal enemies of Seraphi Abrasax who might still hold a grudge. And it may simply be a feint."

Mr. Wise frowned his way. Zvi allowed himself a slight smile in return.

"What do you mean?" Jupiter asked, and he turned his full attention back to her. They had reached the gates of the estate, and she stopped there, one of several dark blots on a landscape of green grass and white stone. "A feint."

"The assassination attempt might be no such thing," Zvi said. "It might be an attempt to convince you to become more hostile to one of your other enemies, by faking an attempt on your life."

"It wasn't fake," Jupiter said. "People _died_."

"But you didn't," Zvi said, and bit back a _your majesty_ she didn't seem to want.

She stared at him a moment longer, then turned away deliberately. "Let's get back to the Aegis," she said, and stepped through the gates that folded away to give her passage. "I want to talk to Captain Tsing about this."

"Should I request the delivery of your honor guard?" Zvi asked, a step behind her, and that was when the shooting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it wasn't perfectly clear in the chapter as I wrote it, here's where I note that Zvi's splice is based on a springbok. They come in three color types--red (the standard), white, and black--and he's the black version. Here's a [picture of a black springbok](https://longlifecatsanddogs.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/growing-up-fast.jpg), which I got from [this website](https://longlifecatsanddogs.wordpress.com/2012/08/12/how-to-make-big-bucks-out-of-small-bucks-part-4/).


	7. The Queueing Dispute

"I want to talk to Captain Tsing about this," Jupiter said. She was already tempted to turn on her boots, after the long slog down the winding path of the splicer's garden entrance. The owner probably called it elegant: Jupiter thought it was gaudy, and she meant that even as someone who was all for diamonds and long trains on dresses and the occasional bit of glitz in life. The turquoise sky overhead was nothing but projected image, because the entire estate was one bubble inside one ring of the many wrapping around Orous. And that might've been fine, along with all the trimmed hedges making an absolute lacework of the hillside, if it weren't for the statues. Enormous white statues, something like twenty feet tall, of...well, she would have said Greek gods, but they probably weren't Greek, here. Dramatic half-naked people in dramatic poses.

The gates opened up for her at the end of the path, to deposit them back onto plain gray corridor. Just outside of the estate, the fake sky disappeared, and she could look right up to see black space through the plexiglass (space glass?) panels far overhead. There was too much light, from the estate-bubbles and the traffic buzzing overhead and the artificial lighting picking out roads on the ground, to make out any stars. Just black. She might've almost thought she was inside the world's largest mall, otherwise. It was a nice enough area of the planetary ring that all the estates were set at safe distances from each other, with plenty of open space between full of floating benches and floating orbs of light. Like the world's grayest park.

"Should I request the delivery of your honor guard?" asked Mr. Darby, a step behind her.

She didn't have time to answer.

At some point Jupiter expected her response to violence to switch from panic to something more like _not this shit again_ , or maybe _at last, a chance to use my excellent fighting reflexes!_. Some point in the distant future. Her first sign of danger came when Caine yanked her sideways, hand wrapping around her waist.

The same moment as shots snapped past where she'd been standing, to slap against the gates they'd just passed through. There was no time for thoughts of how she had just been there. She wasn't there, she wasn't hit, there was a shimmer in the air overhead--

The bullets, or whatever kind of things space machine guns fired, bounced off a shimmering force field that showed just how little the security of the splicer's estate depended on the physical walls.

A split second, for that thought. Maybe time had frozen, or maybe she was getting better at thinking about these things. Probably the latter. The noise cascaded around her all at once, as if she _had_ managed to pause the sequence of events, but there'd been no pause at all, just her mind trying to catch up with the situation. Namely:

Caine, shield up, boots on, swinging between her and the incoming fire, his own gun not drawn yet with so much to do at once and only two hands, but wings already unfurling behind him;

Bob, smile frozen, quite frozen in what looked like a complete lack of programming on how to deal with direct assault;

Darby, flinching back, as if he might turn and run back for the gates, eyes wide and all but disbelieving at this turn of events, which she had warned him about before they left the estate, but maybe not in enough detail;

Ursula, rifle titled upward, that enormous gun from her back being drawn to point in unison at:

A shifting blur overhead, reminiscent of the second time she'd been shot at on Earth, from which all the fire was directed.

And Caine snapping "Down" and Ursula shouting "Two o'clock and half up" and Darby yelping sharply and the bullets thundering past and the whine of the estate's shield at every collision. And then the deafening boom as Ursula's big gun went off, a blossom of fire spreading across that malicious blur.

Its shield flickered, and vanished, which made for the opposite of vanishing, as a ship that was nothing like the keepers' fighters popped into view. A collection of dirty white shards fanned out around a central windowed pod, and each of those shards spun about to direct fire at them from a different angle.

Jupiter remembered to turn her boots on, and look for where they'd parked that rental shuttle. "Get them," she said to Caine.

Simple as that. He let go of her, and surged up toward the shooter, his boots leaving a blue wake of direction and intent behind him. Now he could raise his shield and pull his gun, and Jupiter skated back, behind the wall of bear-splice with all the weaponry.

"To the shuttle," she shouted, not sure Ursula could even hear her over the sound of three different people shooting at once. The curve of the estate shields gave them some sort of cover, and--Jupiter's tactical knowledge stalled out there, except for being sure that it wasn't enough.

"You first," Ursula said, calm and cheerful, and nicked one of those gun-petals on the ship with another boom from her big gun. "I'll give you cover, and bring the civvies."

The stupid part of Jupiter told her to fly right back up to where Caine was getting into an incomprehensible wrangle with the ship itself, and use her pistol to do something to help him. She ignored that part. Also the paranoid part, that pointed out she'd met Ursula less than a day ago, and how was she supposed to know the woman wasn't a plant? Or going to shoot her in the back?

Because not everyone was Titus, that's why, and Caine seemed to consider the woman trustworthy. And because if Ursula wanted to shoot her, it could've happened already.

"Running," she said, and before she actually did it, "Don't forget the rest!"

She tapped her heels together, and the boots shot her forward. Control was easy at low speeds. At this velocity, she was on a bicycle rolling down a steep hill, with no brakes but falling to the ground. Jupiter kept her head down, her strides steady, and didn't look back at the roar of four kinds of firearms behind her. Even when the dull gray surface of this part of the ring, that material used to indicate nothing of importance but polite space existing between different estates, blew sparks and powdery chips towards her on the left. Back towards the dingy little ship that wanted to kill her.

The door to the rented shuttle peeled itself open at her approach. Barely fast enough to let her in, at her speed; she scraped her arm across the door on the way through, and had reason to be glad for how tough those Aegis jackets were. Clearly no one ever shot at Kalique, or she wouldn't walk anywhere in pretty dresses with insufficient arm covering.

Jupiter was damn near ready to add a helmet to her daily wear.

She bounced into the far wall of the main compartment, and remembered to turn her boots _off_ before she ended up trying to turn around and skidding back out of the shuttle again. Caine had called it a planet jumper, and Bob had said that it came from a well-regulated rental, and all she knew about it that was that you told the computer in the pilot's seat the address around Orous you wanted to visit, and the GPS autopilot took over from there.

Jupiter dropped into the pilot's chair at the front. "Do you have any defensive measures?"

"Current rental holder voiceprint recognized," said the shuttle. "Welcome back, your majesty."

Jupiter slammed her palm onto the control panel. "Defensive measures! Like...defensive maneuvering, do you _recognize_ that? They have those in Star Trek, and you've got to be more advanced than that."

"I'm sorry," said the shuttle, "but I don't recognize your request. Would you like me to contact a customer service representative to assist you?"

A spray of bullets swept across the windshield, leaving a long line of stippling. Not cracks, not _breaking_ , but that didn't look like "impervious to bullets", either, and what was Ursula even doing out there?

"You can get me--"

An unholy boom from far too close was followed by an unholy bear. Ursula slammed against the shuttle's interior wall, laughing, with Bob in one arm and Darby in the other. "Got them!" She dropped both on the floor. "What's the sitch, boss?"

"Boss" was not quite "your majesty" and Jupiter wasn't in any mood to argue titles anyway. "This idiot shuttle won't get me any help!"

"I'll call the local Aegis branch," said Darby. There was a wobble in his voice, running straight through that complete calm he used for everything he said.

"Most rental shuttles aren't equipped with weaponry," Bob said. Helpful as always. "Maybe we could...run away?"

"Not with Caine out there." Jupiter left the seat to check out the door, and found Ursula blocking her way. "I need to--"

"Not get shot, if I'm getting paid," Ursula said. She braced the end of her big gun against the doorway. "Hold on!"

The next boom shook the whole shuttle.

Jupiter bit back less useful questions like _Are we winning?_ and _Is he okay?_ and tried, "What do you need to take that thing out?"

"Better angle," Ursula said. She tapped her fangs together thoughtfully while the loading meter on the rifle filled back up again, red to orange to yellow to green. The next boom hit a little more distantly. "Wise is keeping them distracted, but he can't hold out forever. And this dumb shuttle only wants to go between addresses." She swayed sideways casually, as a shot spit past her to leave a dent on the inside wall. "Bob, go talk it into jumping up ten meters or so."

"I'm not a pilot," Bob said, "I'm an advocate--"

"Can you?" Jupiter asked.

The android hesitated, his smile wavering. "I...could try? I've never actually interfaced with a rental shuttle, though the process--"

" _Try_ ," she said, as the front window picked up another line of dents.

Bob ducked his head firmly, and took the chair. His left hand flipped back at the wrist; that was the port that he plugged into the console, and the lights inside the shuttle flickered.

"It's just like dealing with the office of post-dated extensions," Bob said, and the shuttle lurched into the air.

"Better," Ursula said. She drew the second gun back into place. "At our eleven, Bob!"

"I don't know what that means--"

"Little bit left!"

Jupiter stepped around comfortable passenger seats to where Darby was sitting on the floor. The tail of his coat spread around him in a puddle of black on the beige carpet. "Do we have Aegis on the way?" She didn't get an answer immediately. "Mr. Darby?"

His head jerked up her way, a horn tapping against the wall. "The emergency line claims that they're alerting authorities," he said, "but I believe they're stalling. They won't commit to an ETA for help, and they've made an excuse about a traffic accident on this same ring tying up their personnel."

"So they're busy?"

"You are the queen of House Abrasax," he said. "They are the Aegis. They ought to abandon any other duties to come to your aid. Therefore I believe they are being...political." The shuttle shook with another of Ursula's shots, and he flinched. "I'm attempting to send the call up the chain to the next level of authority."

If he could keep that level of calm through all the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and Ursula shouting some sort of directional advice at Bob, then Jupiter figured she could show a little damn equanimity too. "Captain Tsing," she said. "Her ship can't be far. Call _her_."

"Legion ship?" Darby was getting downright terse.

"Aegis." Jupiter grabbed the back of a seat as the shuttle rocked wildly. "Was that us?"

"Got a little problem," Ursula shouted back. "Nothing we can't deal with. Get us closer."

"Right away," Bob said, in that bright voice he had used in rounds of bureaucracy when nothing was going their way. The shuttle tilted wildly to the right, and Jupiter's shoulder hit the wall. "Sorry!"

"Captain Tsing has accepted your call," Darby said, his voice thinner than before. "And she..." He swallowed. "Excuse me. She offers an ETA of five minutes."

"We don't have five minutes of ammo," Ursula shouted. Shouting didn't seem necessary, since she was standing about ten feet away, but it did help to be heard over all the gunfire outside. "Want me to mug them?"

"Keep shooting," Jupiter said, and then, "you're _bleeding_." That wasn't just a rip in her new majordomo's coat, but a spreading patch of wet that had been almost invisible against the black fabric. She crouched down beside him. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know," he said. "My apologies. I'm not--I don't have medical training." He offered her a shaky little smile. "I know how to interview and hire excellent medical personnel."

Jupiter's medical training consisted of a semester of Health she hadn't thought about since she passed the class. "Is there a--first aid kit, that spray stuff like Stinger had? Does anyone have anything useful in here that's not a weapon?"

"Rental shuttle regulations dictate a fully stocked medical kit in the back compartment, next to the emergency decompression pods," Bob offered. The shuttle pitched left. "Sorry!"

"I'm down to two good shots," Ursula said. "Hey, Bob! Go ram those Void-sucking--"

"My programming is completely non-violent," he protested.

Jupiter pulled open the hatch in the back wall with _Emergency Supplies_ written on it; she braced herself with a boot jammed against a seat and a hand on the hatch. "You know how to elbow your way through a line, right?"

"Yes, but--"

She hauled the medical kit out. "Pretend that ship just cut in front of you in line, and _hit it with the damn shuttle_."

"...yes, your majesty."

Jupiter crouched down beside her brand new contracted employee, who she'd already gotten shot. "I keep meeting people right when other people try to kill me," she said. "It's like some sort of bad habit. Or bad karma. Do you believe in karma, Mr. Darby?" She popped open the case. The shuttle was spinning again. "Hold onto something--with your good arm, I mean."

"I'm not certain what you mean," Darby said.

"Karma says that when you do bad things, it comes back to bite you. Even if it takes a long time. Even if it waits for your next life." She pulled out the spray bottle, careful as she could while the floor wobbled beneath them and metal-on-metal noises she didn't want to identify further sprang up from the front. "So maybe Seraphi Abrasax was a terrible person, what with harvesting planets for ninety millennia, and that's why I'm constantly getting shot at. Or my family kidnapped. Or just--everything. Let me see your arm."

Between the two of them, they got his coat pulled half off, then his shirt. The white silk was soaked red from shoulder to elbow. Jupiter aimed the spray at the wound. "This is supposed to--" Nothing came out of the bottle. "...is this _empty_?"

"It would appear so."

Jupiter stood up. "Why," she demanded of the shuttle population in general, "can bureaucracy send me in circles for two hours in lines and not make a rental company keep its first aid kits stocked?"

The shuttle slammed into the weapons drone, windshield first. "Sorry!" Bob said, and there was a flash of blue from where Caine _had_ been, not pinned between the two ships, but very nearly so.

"Good enough," Ursula declared, and leapt out the open door onto the drone.

"God." Jupiter realized it was too late to ask what would happen if the bear-splice missed her mark. "Bob, keep close! Zvi--I mean, Mr. Darby, hold your arm up, put pressure on the wound."

"I will keep very close, Queen Jupiter," Bob said sunnily. "Our shuttle is embedded in their propulsion system. I don't think it's possible for us to detach." He turned away from the console to make a hand gesture that was probably encouraging, not offensive, in the local culture. "So we're doing well!" Mechanical petals jerked against the windshield, obscuring any view beyond them. "The shuttle says the window should hold against this for...about another minute. Its diagnostics are designed for traffic collisions. This is...similar to a traffic collision..."

Jupiter drew her gun, and made her way to the open door. With boots turned on, thank you very much, because if _she_ pitched out the side, she didn't intend to be spend the fall trying to remember how to activate the emergency fast-on. "No one die on me now. Help's on the way."

Outside: 

A ship she was pretty sure didn't have a pilot, some sort of remote-controlled gun drone with more firepower than precision, half its wing-blades embedded into the side of the shuttle, spinning the others wildly about with an endless spray of bullets in an effort to catch up with:

Caine, who could skate faster and swing his shield more effectively than the drone could match, whose shield and boots shone that bright blue that said everything was working, no visible injuries (not like she'd been great at catching those lately), wings snapping as he made fast course changes, his darting in and out with light weaponry some sort of distraction or defense for:

Ursula, her knees clamped around the drone's central pod like she was riding a bull, one arm braced out to hold a spitting petal at an angle that couldn't _quite_ send bullets into her head, the other shoving her big rifle down into the center of the pod she was riding, and:

The ring's high ceiling, a quarter mile high above them, swirling with the creation of one of those temporary through-ports, big enough to introduce an entire Aegis ship that Jupiter did recognize.

She stood in the doorway, her pistol raised and no clear target to shoot, watching the calvary fly in.

The drone spotted Captain Tsing's ship, or its operator did. All the firing stopped at once, and the free petals reoriented themselves to aim at a single point: the place where it was wedged into the shuttle. One blast that had Jupiter's ears ringing with the sound of ripped metal and a fresh type of explosion, and the drone folded its remaining wings to the side, spun around, and shot away.

Ursula couldn't hold on at that speed. She dropped off the drone, a plummet Jupiter was all too familiar with on a personal level. And Caine, already turning to pursue the drone, turned right back around to fly down and catch her.

By the time Jupiter caught up with them, the drone was a receding speck. Caine lowered Ursula to the ground, and let go of her jacket. "You might not want to jump out of ships when your gravity only goes down," he said, jaw setting.

"You caught me, didn't you?" Ursula brushed herself off, and nodded once to Jupiter, but her attention was on the drone. "It's getting away. Sorry to say, boss, but I'm ground troops, and that thing's not ground. Out of my hands."

Caine's boots were still turned on. But he looked at Jupiter. And waited.

"Can you catch it?" she asked.

"If I go now. And track it. I'll be gone a while."

"Go," Jupiter said. Before she could change her mind.

She'd changed her mind before he was even out of earshot. But she kept her mouth shut, arms folded across her chest, and acted like some sort of queen who made practical long-term decisions that put goals like finding out who was trying to kill her on a higher priority than keeping her boyfriend nearby.

#

Captain Tsing was in the middle of a conversation when Jupiter reached the bridge. With another woman in Aegis uniform, who was, the slight flicker showed, not actually on the bridge, but projected there. That was one way to make a phone call more interesting. This second Aegis captain stood a little taller and had a narrow smile on a broad face.

"Protocol demands otherwise, Captain Warde."

"And as soon as I realized my subordinates had misattributed the request," said the projected woman, presumably Captain Warde, "I begin gathering all appropriate forces, but by that point you had already entered my jurisdiction."

"It's a poor captain who blames her crew," Captain Tsing said. She made a tiny motion with one hand, and one of the crew moved in to intercept Jupiter with a finger raised to his lips. That was a universal gesture for something like _You're not on camera yet, be quiet._

"It's been some time since you handled security near a planet," said Captain Warde, slick as oil with every sentence. "You may have forgotten how resource distribution changes things. I only have so many ships, so many personnel, and there are _so_ many Entitled in this area, all of them wanting personal attention. A communication gap occurred. These things do happen. Since you've decided to take command of the situation, I do hope everything is under control."

"As always, Noa," Tsing said dryly, "you reach the heart of the situation."

"So it _is_ under control." Captain Warde executed a lazy salute. "Lovely hearing from you again, Diomika. Stop by for dinner if your escort duty lets up for long enough." Her image vanished.

Captain Tsing said nothing, with such exactness that it was as good as a curse.

"We did call," Jupiter said. The bridge crew was all focusing on individual work stations. "Mr. Darby told them exactly who I was, and that someone was shooting at me."

"I have no doubt that you followed proper channels," Captain Tsing said. "However, this close to Orous, channels are often diverted."

Like that one summer vacation, Jupiter playing with her cousin in the woods, and that tiny stream she'd been building a careful dam across, stone by stone, to build a little wading pool. Until he'd rolled a log into it upstream, and sent water cascading out of the stream bed, bypassing her dam entirely. He'd thought it was funny. She'd been furious, in one of those ways adults didn't understand if she tried to explain it to them. Because they'd both been playing in the stream, and wasn't that fair enough? But she'd been trying to build something, and it was so much easier to break things than build them.

Diverted channels. Understood.

"Maybe I shouldn't spend much time around Orous," Jupiter said.

"As your majesty wishes," said Captain Tsing, in that way she had of not agreeing or disagreeing when she was making a point about it not being her decision. The captain was pretty good at indicating what she thought a good decision would be, when it mattered. So maybe this one could go either way. "Skyjacker Wise has sent word that he continues tracking your most recent assailant, and that he'll contact you again when he has new information. Your other personnel have been restored to order."

"Mr. Darby's arm?"

"And the damage Advocate Bob suffered from using an unsuitable shuttle interface. Ms. Opeatrix has, to the astonishment of many, suffered no recent injuries, though she did attempt to perform a field upgrade on her weapon while not properly supervised in the armory. The quartermaster has handled the situation."

"I'll just go...see to my people," Jupiter said.

Captain Tsing nodded to her. That was an opinion stated, right there.

#

Ursula was leaning against the wall by the door to Jupiter's quarters. "Everything's shipshape, boss," she said. "Would you believe they have full void rigs for skyjackers on board? This captain's loaded for a real war."

"It is the military," Jupiter said.

Ursula shrugged broad shoulders. "Legion ships, you get thousands of those rigs at once. Aegis ships, usually there isn't one to be found for love, spit, or creds, when you need the heavy duty stuff. This group must do some serious wandering. I like this captain. She looks for trouble."

"I like her too," Jupiter said, and opened the door. "Do you want to come in and sit down?"

Ursula waved a hand. "I'll do guard duty for a while. Adrenaline won't wear off for an hour yet, and I want to see if that cute lapintant walks by again."

"Good luck," Jupiter said, and decided against asking after what kind of splice a lapintant was, or what Ursula intended to do with one.

The room inside was as enormous and stark as ever. Impersonal, except for having enough space to mark out her status on a ship where ordinary crew slept in tubes. And there was Darby, standing by the window with a sheave in his arms.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, before he could get too official at her.

"Back in good condition, thank you," he said. His coat was still torn, and he'd replaced his bloodied shirt with one from an Aegis uniform. At this rate she'd end up surrounded entirely by people in the uniform of an organization they didn't belong to. At least Ursula still had her Hawaiian shirt under all the body armor.

"I'm sorry I got you shot," Jupiter said. No. That was terrible. "I'll get your shirt replaced." _Worse._ Maybe it would be better to focus on business. "Caine's off for a while, tracking down who did this. Can you get me a list of the most likely suspects? It might help him."

"Immediately," he said.

"It doesn't have to be immediately, just--" She sat down abruptly. "Sit down? You just got shot. You don't need to stand all the time."

Darby looked for a bench that wouldn't put him side to side with her, before he sat.

"I can't keep calling you Mr. Darby," she said. "It's like I'm talking to a teacher, or a client. You're barely older than my cousin Mikka. Do you mind if I call you Zvi?"

"Not at all," he said, ducking his head.

"But you would say that even if you did mind. Because you work for me, and because I'm Entitled."

Zvi hesitated a moment. Not like he'd been caught at something, but like he was trying to work out the wording for a response. "You are not _an_ Entitled, Queen Jupiter. You are _the_ Entitled whom I serve. What pleases you is pleasing to me."

She could have just put her face in her hands and had a good cry. But that wouldn't be very royal, would it?

"Okay," she said. "What do you think I should know?" Probably too big of a question. "Right this minute."

Zvi lowered his sheave into his lap, and began flicking his way through it, flickers of holographic images rising up and moving away as he navigated it much more expertly than she could've. "Bob has been repaired and placed into a suspension harness with selected educational dreams loading. He'll have more information on probate law afterward. Superior body armor for Ursula will be arriving shortly; as it's not available to civilians without proper authorization, I'll need your signet here to confirm it's at your command." He offered the sheave her way, with a circle light up for her to place the mark on her forearm against.

It was a good thing he looked nothing at all like Balem, except for the tendency to dress in black.

She laid her arm down. The mark tingled faintly as confirmation was accepted. "What about Caine? He's tracking, but he'll be back soon." Some kind of soon, that she didn't have a precise definition for.

"He already has military-restricted equipment in possession. If he communicates a need for any others, I'll have it ordered. There's nowhere to put a full skyjacker rig until you have possession of a personal vehicle."

"So I need a spaceship."

"Yes. I've contacted the production facility you own to redirect an order in progress towards your use. It should be ready within three days, though full defensive weaponry will take longer to arrive; that has to be ordered separately."

"Oh," Jupiter said. "Right. I own a moon that builds spaceships." Sentences she had never imagined saying out loud, much less seriously, even in her childhood fantasies of Mars colonies and space exploration. "I own a moon that builds spaceships, and it's building me a spaceship. While that's going on, I want to do something--useful. What should I do about these murder attempts? Honestly. Tell me what you think."

"Shore up defenses," Zvi said promptly.

"Like the body armor for Ursula."

"Yes," he said, "but I meant in the sense of allies. Are you currently on good terms with anyone of your House?"

"Kalique is the only one who hasn't tried to kill me," Jupiter said, more brightly than she felt. "That I know of. Yet. She kidnapped me once, but I'm three for three on that, so maybe I should stop holding it against family members. Some people call you with invitations for Thanksgiving, some people send bounty hunters to kidnap you."

"Then I would suggest making what alliances you can with her," Zvi said. "It's not in her immediate interests to have her entire House in chaos, and the House of Abrasax has already hit the gossip networks in that regard."

"I can do that," Jupiter said. "Kalique is a little weird, but friendly. And she's not..."

Evil, she was going to say. Except for that part where Kalique had showed off her bath water made out of people, and neglected to mention the last part. When was that going to come up? After a leisurely vacation and a slow build up? How did a person build up to a revelation like that, anyway?

Titus had said it outright. Titus had told her the truth of the horror that lay beneath the entire economy of a galactic civilization so big that the whole of the Earth might as well be one of those little islands sinking beneath the waves thanks to global warming, and with the rest of the universe giving the Earth about as much thought as, well, as Jupiter herself gave those islands on any given day. Which was to say: none. Titus had told her the truth as the setup for a much bigger lie, because that was the best way to make lies work.

And that was the House she was supposed to make friends in.

"...violent," Jupiter finished. "Talk about damning with faint praise. I guess that's the plan. We'll go visit Kalique, and see if she's willing to give me some pointers on making it to thirty years old alive."

"I'll have the tailors meet us on the way," Zvi said, and made a note on his tablet.

"I have tailors?"

"Only hired, though if you wanted to acquire a studio personally--"

"Hired is fine," Jupiter said quickly, before he could buy her a fashion label. She'd always wanted to own an Alexander McQueen dress; that didn't mean she wanted to own an Alexander McQueen personally. "Pick whoever you think can make me look...queenly. Like the way Kalique dresses."

Zvi looked slightly relieved. Maybe he'd imagined she wore all black all the time. Again, more Balem's thing than hers. "I'll have it done. After that--" He paused. "Contact from the bridge. Your keepers have returned with news."

"Maybe it's good news," Jupiter said. "What are the chances?"

"I couldn't say?"

"Rhetorical question. Never mind." She walked back out of the cabin, and picked up an Ursula on the way. Jupiter hoped that somewhere in the depths of the ship, Bob was having a very pleasant upgrade dream, learning about probate law. Some of these people she'd acquired seemed a lot easier to keep happy than others.

The keepers were waiting in a room to the side of the bridge. It was like the conference room from one of those old Star Trek episodes, except with a single floating couch--in Aegis grays and blacks, not looking particularly comfortable--instead of a long table and chairs. The gray keepers were all wearing their human disguises, standing very straight at the far end of the room, with a picture of the Earth displayed on the wall.

"Tell me what's going on," Jupiter said. She sat down on the couch, with Zvi standing to one side of her and Ursula at the other. It felt ridiculous and official, all at once. Like being a very pretentious CEO.

"Your planet remains safe," one of the keepers said. They'd never offered names, and they seemed to switch their human disguises between them freely; there was no good way to tell one from another. The picture of the Earth on the screen floated out, a pretty three-dimensional picture in the middle of the room. "We have detected no unauthorized approaches since your last departure."

"Well," Jupiter said, "that's good."

The Earth swelled up, and illusory clouds swept past her, the image zooming them in towards North America. Down through the sky and into Chicago, until the conference room had her sitting on a floating couch looking at the front door of her own house. A FedEx man walked up to the door, taped a note to it, and dropped a package there.

"We have provided an excellent, fatality-free cover for your absence," said a different keeper, sounding downright proud at this point. "Rather than impersonate you to these people, and risk discomfort to your valued subjects, we delivered information through a third party."

The door opened, and Aunt Nino stood there. Close enough that Jupiter could have called out to her, if it had been more than a recording. She sighed at the note on the door, and picked up the package.

"So what's the cover?" Jupiter asked. "What's in the package?"

"Documentation of your absence and its reason," said--one of the keepers. Whichever. All of them wore very smug expressions. "We took on the appearance of you and your valued splice in an appropriate part of the 'Las Vegas' region of your planet, and performed a traditional marriage ceremony there. The package contains an explanatory letter, and photographs. The local custom of the 'honeymoon' will excuse your absence for some time yet."

"What."

"In this custom," began one of the keepers, "the newly pairbonded couple retreats to a private location--" Another keeper smacked him in the side. "...rhetorical question. My humblest apologies for the interruption, your majesty."

"You." Jupiter stood up. "You got me _married_? You got me married to Caine and sent my family _pictures_? This is how they're learning about him? They think I eloped to VEGAS?"

"It's not legally binding anywhere that matters," one of the keepers said anxiously. "It's only valid in the planet's local system of primitive government! We can modify the records afterward if it proves inconvenient, though too much time has elapsed for convenient memory modification."

"Our most, most humble apologies," said another keeper, backing away through the illusion of the house's wall. "We were trying to find an excuse that would cause no trauma. No death. No serious concern for your well-being among your valued subjects."

"No, only serious concern for my sanity!" Jupiter pressed her hands to her mouth. "My mother is going to kill me."

The room went very silent.

"Not literally," Jupiter said. "Not _literally_ , so don't any of you do anything that would hurt my mother. My family is--they're the most important people on that planet, okay? You'll make sure they stay safe. Especially if someone comes looking for me. It's happened before." She turned away from the keepers and that image of a place she hadn't been absent from for more than two days, and felt like she'd already lost forever. Stupid feeling. It wasn't going to be like that. "Zvi. You know how to manage keepers, right?"

He stood very straight. "Certainly."

"You--figure it out. Make sure they're watching out for my family, but not messing around with them. I need to go--do something. I'm not married! I'm not marrying _anyone_. We know how that went last time! Right?"

She was demanding that of Ursula, somehow, in the way she'd gotten turned around.

"No idea," Ursula said, "but I'm with you! Don't marry anyone you don't want to. Good plan." She offered Jupiter a friendly pat on the shoulder. "It'll be fine. Have you seen Wise's record? If you've got to pretend to be married to someone on some backwater planet for a while, at least it's to someone who can shoot straight."

"Nnnn." Jupiter left the room before she said anything she might regret.

#

"I think that went well," Ursula said to Zvi.

He surveyed the keepers he'd been left with. There was only so much to be done with keepers. They were obedient, but not particularly imaginative. "Compared to what?"

"Oh, I don't know." Ursula patted him on the shoulder next. "Just said that so you'd feel better. Good luck with those folks! I'm going to do the bodyguard thing until Wise gets back. I think it's what he'd want."

And then she went, and left him with the keepers.

"Do you think the marriage was a bad idea?" one asked him.

Zvi tried to look somber and authoritative. "Perhaps," he said. "Yes. I rather believe so. Let's look into mitigation options, now."


	8. The Side Effects of Long-Term Planning

Zvi had six information sources flickering across his vision and hearing, an armful of sheaves, and an incipient headache. The information streams (three public/commercial, one subscription, one to the Aegis ship's com, one to the HR department at the Seraphi Shipyards) were moving too fast for him to keep up with any of them completely, but it was no time to lose track of local political/fashion/economic development, or any of the various tasks he was supposed to be managing. The sheaves, at least, weren't twitching on him. They lay neatly in his arms as he nodded to Ursula, got a friendly nod back, and hurried into his queen's rooms.

_His_ queen. Zvi couldn't think of a time he'd been more satisfied, headache and all. An occasional non-fatal shooting was well within tolerances. And she had made sure his clothing was replaced by the tailors, the instant they arrived, before letting them start on her own wardrobe.

It was either a sign of favor or a sign of the native customs on her homeworld. He wanted it to be the former, and wasn't foolish enough to disregard the possibility of the latter. A barbarian queen was bound to conduct herself differently from one raised in civilization; it was _his_ responsibility to understand this, adjust for it, and translate as necessary.

At the moment, his barbarian queen was holding out her arms while a half dozen assistants to the tailor clustered around her with swatches and measurement tools, and she was looking a little put out by the whole production.

"Butterflies," the tailor was saying, "as the more decorative insects nod to the concept of bees without making so bold a statement about primacy as bees would, could then flow constantly from the back of your gown--"

"Yes on butterflies as a look, no them streaming them from my back," Jupiter said. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him. "Zvi, what's the news? Any word from Caine?"

"None since he left the Orous system." Zvi held out the first of the sheaves. "I need your permission to direct the keepers on Earth. It seems advisable to set up a discreet security team around certain people there." He did not particularly want to discuss business in front of tailors who were merely hired, not personally contracted, but needs must. And the gist of these details would get out onto the gossip channels eventually, regardless. There was no such thing as a perfectly contained household with no information leaks.

"Can they do that without bothering my family?"

Zvi made a quick note on his internal calendar to discuss principles of discretion with his queen, once he'd figured out how to word that properly. "Yes. No interference without dire need, and they would perform that in the guise of local authorities, to minimize the need for memory-wiping."

Jupiter pressed her forearm to the sheave. "Let's try to keep the memory-wiping down as much as possible."

"We can put the butterflies in jewelry," said the tailor. Drea Sticho, whose studio had almost, but not quite, acquired exclusive design rights for two primaries of the House of Noaen, until one of them had been assassinated. (In an unrelated bit of politics, he was reasonably sure.) She was a pushy individual, which one expected from humans of any great financial assets, but it was a very forward way to speak with an Entitled. Still. Only a rather pushy designer would've been brash enough to run out and meet an Aegis ship just for the chance to be the first official designer to a new queen. Barbarian or not, the sole primary monarch of House Abrasax _would_ make waves in the fashion world, and the unusual background--even for a recurrence--would only make the interest more keen. Brash was exactly the kind of tailoring approach they needed.

"Bees would also be appropriate," Zvi said.

"If her majesty prefers," said Sticho smoothly. She adjusted the display, and the slightly abstracted Jupiter-in-dress being projected there changed its motif from butterflies to bees. It changed again, into a more abstract design that suggested creatures with rounded wings and no specific insect at all. "More in silver and black, to match your current preferences? Or would you like to move into other directions of color?"

Pushy. Entirely pushy.

"This is just what Aegis had available," Jupiter said. "It's more for bullet reasons than fashion reasons. But give me something I can run in. Sort of in the McQueen look, except a little more practical, right?"

Sticho froze up, a smile in place, with a flick of her eyes towards Zvi. Of course she had no idea who McQueen was. He...didn't have any idea either, and he really needed to know what his own queen was talking about, when she chose to make requests by analogy.

Zvi opened a new channel of communications to the command center for the keepers on Earth. Authorization bounced there and back, and he had confirmation, in the space of two heartbeats, to direct thousands of keepers across the planet. The power could go to a splice's head, if he hadn't been training all his life to handle that sort of thing responsibility.

_Compile cultural references for her majesty's local environs,_ he sent them. _Popular entertainment. Fashion. Food. Local taboos and expectations of etiquette. Detailed list follows._

"It wouldn't be inappropriate to hint at military styles," Zvi said, covering the designer's hesitation. "Do you have fabrics resistant to weapons fire?"

#

Jupiter had certainly dreamed of _buying_ designer dresses. And there'd been a vague idea that in this dream she might well go have them fitted by professionals. The fantasy hadn't gone so far as to have her in a room packed with androids gesturing at her with little glowing rods while a woman asked her solemnly about what colors, fabrics, styles, sigils, and details she couldn't even identify, she might want. Not on _a_ dress, but a theoretical entire wardrobe.

The wardrobe was becoming much less theoretical.

"We've entered the orbit of Cerise," Zvi said, from where he was standing by the door. "Would you like visuals?"

"Please," Jupiter said, and as easy as asking, the wall she was facing turned into a crisp view of a planet below them. White clouds, milky blue oceans, and long sprays of red all across the continent directly ahead. It was impossible and perfect, and a clearer picture than she could get through a glass window.

One of these days she might get tired of seeing planets from space, and thinking, _This is me, in space, further away from Earth than anyone else from the planet has ever gone._ But she hoped it didn't happen any time soon.

"For country estates," said Ms. Sticho, holding up another one of those hologram images of a proposed outfit. In this one the boots went up to her knees, and the holographic Jupiter seemed to be holding a riding crop. "While out and about, with great freedom of movement."

"It looks good," Jupiter said, and everyone nodded very seriously. The androids stepped in, right up into her personal space, and by now she'd learned to resist the twitchiness of having that many strangers waving tools right past her face, shoulders, between her knees... This kept turning into outfits, somehow, or at least a few of them that the tailor had described as "simple", in a way that implied "simple" was still a very laudable design goal.

She was going to visit the daughter of someone she was sort of the reincarnation of--someone she'd met before, not a complete stranger--and everyone acted as if she was being daring and hasty to not come in with six dresses, two nightgowns, three robes for wandering around informally, and four outfits for "outside", whatever that meant when Kalique's palace was full of giant balconies already.

"For less formal dinners in company with one's subjects," Ms. Sticho said, "you will of course want an outfit that projects intimacy at a proper reserve, and authority without making a point of it. You'll see that in this one we've abstracted the bees further, but emphasized the collar and suggested hairpiece."

One of the androids lifted Jupiter's ponytail in his hands. There was too much touching going on, and she really didn't know how to object to it. Everyone else thought it was normal, especially coming from these servant androids working for the tailor. Like they were tools, not people, and it was as normal for them to stand that close to her and put their hands on her as it would be for her to use a brush on her hair. In the hologram, the figure's hair wound up into a complicated fan studded with gems and spread across bright white hairsticks.

"Too much like the outfit I almost got married in," Jupiter said. "So not like that." That was half the problem in all this. She was in charge, she was making decisions herself, and every third or fourth design she just remembered--other people dressing her up. Pushing her around. Treating her like an expensive doll, or someone who just wouldn't mind strangers making fashion choices for her, or seeing her in her underwear.

"More of a waterfall impression," Ms. Sticho said. "To celebrate the many oceans of your preferred planet?" There'd clearly been some kind of exchange going on between Zvi and Ms. Sticho, where Jupiter couldn't hear it, because five minutes after he showed up in the room, the tailor had started understanding a lot more references to Earth fashion, and making suggestions as if she'd known those designers all along. "Like this, perhaps."

The fan of hair turned into a complicated cascade down the back of the figure's head, and a high gray collar rose up in blocky rectangles around its neck. There was a cape to go with that, translucent blue and gray in flowing patterns like water across a pebbled stream. (Like the one where she'd built a dam, or tried to, once upon a time.) The top was cut daringly, but not the kind of daring that was going to make her feel like that poor woman in black pasties who stood behind Balem. Just...sexy daring. A silver belt in rectangles to match the collar settled on the figure's hips, and then the skirt of the dress was cut into six panels, each slit running all the way up to the belt, with a vague impression of tights beneath. Or something a bit more solid than tights.

"Suitable for running in," the tailor added blandly. Maybe Ms. Sticho was offended by the need to make evening gowns and formalwear practical, but Ms. Sticho could live with it, because Jupiter was paying the bills and Jupiter was the one who was likely to have to fight someone on a crumbling catwalk in one of those dresses.

Hopefully not that specific scenario. Again. But Jupiter was increasingly in favor of not taking chances, when it came to being prepared for things that had happened once before. No more dropping off high places without a way to halt her own fall. No more walking around without someone to watch her back. No more--

\--no more walking around without someone to watch her back, ever. Even on Earth. Even if she went back to helping her mother and aunt scrub toilets. Even if she settled things in the wider universe, somehow, and went back home. There was no such thing as settled enough, ever.

"It looks great," Jupiter said, and smiled like she meant that. The clothes were fine. The clothes weren't the problem.

She had the nasty feeling that the problem, the big capital P level of Problem, was that all of her smaller problems were just symptoms. She could keep on fixing the little stuff (if saving the entire population of the Earth from destruction could be called "little") and it wasn't going to do a damn thing to change the way the universe at large operated. Saving the Earth was like her family buying her that telescope. It meant something, it really _meant_ something, but that didn't change the work her mother did or Mikka's problems at school, much less crime and global warming and famines and floods and everything else. And that was just one planet.

Funny how becoming royalty made her feel less significant, not more, the longer she thought about it.

 

#

There were protocols for Entitled visiting each other in person, which Zvi gathered had not been respected the last time Jupiter had visited this planet. But _this_ time through, everything was being done by the sheave, point by point down the code of conduct, and so there was a good hour of exchanging assurances and standard formulas and passing through communications officers, security officers, and decision-making types, for all three parties of Kalique Abrasax, Captain Tsing's ship, and his queen, before landing permission was officially granted.

In the case of his queen, Zvi had to play the role of communication officer and security officer, because Ursula completely refused to offer any security assurances beyond "I'll shoot who Queen Jupiter wants me to, or anyone who tries to shoot at her first, or looks like they might." Which was not exactly how the code worked. He needed more staff. Unlike the proper royal wardrobe, it would have to wait.

"Lady Kalique is prepared to receive you," he said to Jupiter, while streaming Yves Saint Laurent designs to the tailor for reference. They had reached the stage of casual wear for daily use in one's own home, and he rather approved of the oufit Ms. Sticho had pulled up for approval. Tight grey pants, cropped to the ankle, in shimmering steel-gray (from one of those interesting new liquid metal micro-reaction fabrics, which ought to respond equally well to long-term storage and long-term use), were then tucked into half-boots with buttons. The top was colorblocked in shades from black to silver blouse, with a deep v-neck, and cap sleeves with sharp shoulders. In the image, suggested jewelry swapped through several different potential arrangements. (He was personally fondest of the silver earrings, deceptively simple rings engraved with patterns only visible on close inspection, but that was more his taste than his queen's.) It had that stylistic gesture towards Jupiter's favor being so often aimed at military people and organizations, and her own aggressive approach to problem-solving, that other people would learn to appreciate. One way or another.

"Give me a few more variants on that one," Jupiter said, and turned away from the tailor. "Is everyone ready? What about Bob?"

"Out of harness and waiting with Ms. Opeatrix. I'll tell Captain Tsing to begin the descent."

"And still no word from Caine."

"Not yet," Zvi said. "He may be in a situation where communication is inadvisable at the moment."

That had not been the right thing to say. He realized that as soon as his queen's expression changed, that flicker of deep concern replaced by a deliberately calm facade. "He'll be fine," she said. "Let's go talk to my... To Kalique."

#

Kalique, familial relationship left at _let's not think about it_ for the moment, was waiting at the landing pad to meet her. The space looked about like a helicopter pad, if someone had decided to build one of those on a fairytale castle on top of a cliff, overlooking a river surrounded by brilliant crimson flowers. People who owned planets could presumably put their landing pads wherever they wanted, and build castles of endless balconies and open-walled corridors and elegant stairs, because what else did people do with infinite money? It was either that or waste it all on assassins.

Jupiter wasn't sure how the economics of that worked, but it sounded solid. Enough.

"I'm so glad you came," Kalique said. She sounded perfectly sincere. So had Titus. If there was anything the whole Abrasax family had going for it, it was the ability to sound sincere about whatever they said, from marriage proposals to death threats. She held out both hands, and Jupiter took them, because that seemed like the thing to do. "I was worried, when I heard about all the trouble my brothers put you through, but here you are."

"Here I am," Jupiter said, trying for some sincerity in her own response. She found herself arm-in-arm with Kalique, walking away from the shuttle Captain Tsing had sent down. It was a tidy little thing, much sharper-looking than the rental had been, with a real Aegis pilot and various Aegis crew sitting inside. No one had said anything explicit about an escort, or an escape route if things went south, but she wasn't stupid. The point there had been obvious, without Captain Tsing having to imply anything about Kalique's potential to be--what, as bad as her brothers?

It would be nice to have one relative in all this space royalty who didn't try to kill her. Just one. And she wasn't sure Nazihe counted.

"It feels like it was only yesterday," Kalique said, locking them into a leisurely stroll, "that I first saw you here. Time moves so fast. Now you're coming into your own as a queen, all over again and for the first time."

"The first time you saw me," Jupiter said, "wasn't I unconscious and delivered by bounty hunters?"

"An unfortunate side-effect of politics." Kalique had a light, pretty laugh, and Jupiter didn't believe for an instant that it meant this woman was...inconsequential. Apolitical. Anything other than the Abrasax sibling who'd dealt with her and not ended up in more trouble afterward. "Or you could call it an unfortunate side-effect of contractors. With Titus sending one person after you, and Balem sending a set... It was so much simpler to deal with the latter than add a third group to the mix. The more people show up in one place to have an argument, the noisier it gets, and soon the collateral damage starts adding up. It's untidy."

They strolled down a corridor with pillars to their right, and the sun setting in delicate pink-and-purple rays across the horizon. It was, what was the word, picturesque? Probably everything that Kalique did was picturesque. Probably she had a different corridor on the opposite side of the house to walk down at dawn, if she bothered to get up early enough to walk around at that time. Androids and people who might've been human, or very subtle splices, followed them in a silent train, all capes and metallic shine, because that was the sort of thing Kalique did when she walked places. Had people whose only job seemed to be looking pretty, or holding bowls of fruit, walk behind her.

But then, Jupiter had her own little string of people too. Zvi, who'd kept a precise two steps back since she left the shuttle, and hadn't said a word. Ursula, who _did_ look sharper in the updated outfit, sauntering along with rifles on her back, and then Bob, who had a fresh suit and a slightly dazed look ever since he'd rejoined her. Something about assimilating new information; Zvi had explained the basics, but she'd been distracted by tailoring and the planetary approach.

"You know," Jupiter said, "Titus was going to kill me. After he married me."

Kalique sighed faintly. "That boy."

"He was going to _kill_ me."

"I received news of the filed grievance as soon as it was official," Kalique said. "I want to say that I'm surprised, I really do, but I'm only disappointed in him. He's always been the sort to seek short-term gain over long-term, no matter how often we tried to teach him better. Maybe it's because he's the baby of the family. No one ever expected him to step up and take responsibility, with two older siblings and a mother around to handle all the family business, so he never had any expectations to live up to."

"This isn't 'boys will be boys'," Jupiter said. "He lied to me, asked me to marry him, and meant to kill me." They had reached an airy balcony, where spheres of light hovered above dangling spider plants that were supported in turn by nothing apparent. Just plants in the air, trailing green strands down around an ornate table.

The table was floating. As were the chairs. House Abrasax had never met a fermionics use they didn't like, especially when it came to furniture.

"He should have known better." Kalique was the sort of person who could sit down on a chair while wearing a dress that swept behind her for two feet of train, and still make the gesture graceful, with all the folds of cloth hanging artistically around her. "I can't blame you in the slightest for holding it against him."

Jupiter sat down in the facing chair. "You say that like there's another option." There was an android handmaiden immediately at the tableside, offering a platter of bright green crystals. She was still trying to figure out if those were decoration or dinner when Kalique plucked one off the platter for a bite.

"There are always options," Kalique said. "It's like I always tried to tell Titus. Short-term gains, long-term gains, and setting your goals. Only you know what you really want to pursue in life, Jupiter."

"And if I want to pursue having Titus punished for what he did to me?"

"Then you should," Kalique said. She waved a hand towards the platter. "You should really try these, they're lovely. You have...so many options, you really do. Your inheritance opens up possibilities--"

"I read the list," Jupiter said. "An accountant walked me through it. Why did she leave me entire planets, but no voting shares in Abrasax Industries? What did she _want_ me to do?"

That wasn't quite what she'd meant to bring up first thing in a conversation. But there it was, and she wasn't about to take back the question, either.

"Near the end of my mother's life," Kalique said, no less sincere than before, but more somber now, for whatever that was worth, "she had...questions, you could say, about some of her own goals. Seraphi was always the best of any of us at thinking long-term. She planned for millennia the way other people plan for the weekend. I believe that when she wrote her will, she wanted to give herself a chance to live differently. If you held voting shares, you would be necessarily bound into all the business side of the House. Voting, planning, hiring and firing--"

"Harvesting."

"That is how matters run," Kalique said. She leaned in over the table, a hand across Jupiter's. "It must come as such a shock. I imagine Titus put it just terribly, because he wanted to scare you into making decisions the way he pleased, when you might've made different ones with a little more time to think things over. And a better explanation of it all. Anything can sound terrible if you say it the right way."

"Abrasax Industries murders people by the billions to make an immortality goo. Over and over again, on more planets than I knew existed two months ago. Like that?"

"Like that." Kalique was unflappable. It was a little unnerving. She picked up another green gem. "Do you know what Regenex is used for?"

"Immortality. You take that bath in Soylent Green, and it turns you young again." Jupiter pulled her hands into her lap. The fancy outfit didn't make her feel any more confident, but the anger, sure, that was helping. She was damn near glowing with anger. "That's what you kill people for. So that someone else can live a while longer."

"Yes," Kalique said. "That's one of its uses. We make the purest version, and so it's used most often for that purpose. Other companies produce it in a less efficient manner, which is a pity, given the value of the resource. Then this substance, whatever the brand may be, spreads throughout the universe, for use in...all sorts of things." She leaned back slightly, looking over the people standing behind Jupiter. "What a pretty splice you've acquired. Someone to watch your accounts and give you advice, I hope?"

"I don't see what he has to do with this," Jupiter said.

"He could tell you." Kalique waved away another android's offer of something like bonbons. "Couldn't you?"

"You should leave him out of this."

"Jupiter." Kalique sat back, hands laid out before her. "I'm not your enemy, here. I'm only trying to help you understand. Ask him what this product is used for."

"Mr. Darby," Jupiter said, "what do people use it for?"

Zvi stepped forward, ducked his head. He looked a great deal more formal than he had on Captain Tsing's ship, which shouldn't have been possible, and yet there it was. His hair was all worked into complex braids that made him look older, and less approachable. "Regeneration of youth," he said, "is considered the fundamental use, because of the quantity needed for application. A greater percentage of the overall stock goes to medical uses for treatment of injury, disease, deformity, and so forth. It is also a necessary component for the creation of splices, androids, some human infants, and new manipulation of sentient species like keepers or sargorns." He hesitated very briefly. "It is also an ingredient in some drinks and delicacies."

Jupiter stared at the bowl of green gems, and remembered that bottle Stinger had used on Caine. The empty bottle of similar design inside the rented shuttle. The way she had sent Zvi to the ship's infirmary, sure they would save him easily.

"Everything is a trade-off, Jupiter," Kalique said. She met Jupiter's gaze directly. "One life for another. One day here for one year there. Time, money, health, friendship, family, everything that exists can be converted into another commodity."

"Relationships aren't commodities," Jupiter said. " _People_ aren't commodities."

"Titus could have had a real relationship with you," Kalique said, "and he chose to expend that on a chance at your fortune. Isn't that a trade? I should have warned you before you left that he had terrible planning, and I would have, if I'd thought he had a plan like that."

"People aren't _things_ ," Jupiter said. "They're not cans of soup."

"Every war spends lives for peace, or territory, or ideology." Kalique shook her head. "It's not pleasant to think about, so most people don't think about it, but that doesn't make it less true. That splice who came to find you here was in the Legion, and he's been rejuvenated more than once, even aside from having damage repaired. If it weren't for that, he would never have been able to meet you. I have gathered, from my own sources, that if it weren't for him, you wouldn't have survived. Somewhere on a distant planet, hundreds of years ago, thousands of people suddenly fell asleep and never woke up, so that a single man could continue living long enough to save your life in turn."

"You can't make me say if it was worth it," Jupiter said. "I wasn't there. I wasn't the one making the decisions." They were decisions she couldn't have made, even knowing how it would end.

"I would never ask that." Kalique motioned to her attendants, and half of them hurried away. "It wouldn't be fair to you. We are all part of this universe, from the lowliest splice to the primary of House Abrasax, and we all benefit. We all pay. We all have a chance to return, whether our life is cut off at nine days or ninety millennia, and try again. If you want my opinion, Jupiter, I believe that Seraphi left you palaces and planets, but no voting share in the corporation, because she wanted to offer herself a life without those complications. Where she could legitimately say that she wasn't the one making those decisions, with all their consequences."

"If I don't make any decisions for Abrasax Industries," Jupiter says, "it just keeps on harvesting planets. Killing people."

"Yes," Kalique said. She rose to her feet, and offered Jupiter a hand. "This kind of discussion can be so affecting. Looking at the complex parts of life often is. Why don't you retire to your room for an hour? The cook is preparing something amazing for dinner, and we can pick up there. I'm sure you'll want to talk about business."

"Business," Jupiter said. She stood up, because she couldn't think of what else to do, but she didn't take that hand. Titus and Balem tried to kill her; Kalique just sat back and let the murdering happen to strangers, with ready made reasons for all of it. No better, just more removed from the blood. "And assassinations. And what your brothers have been doing. All those things."

"All those things," Kalique said, and smiled. "I promise."


	9. Meanwhile, Elsewhere

Once upon a time Caine was a lone wolf. (It's a joke. It's a pun. It's not a _joke_ , but it was easier if he pretended it was.) Once upon a time he had been all alone, stripped away from people and pack and the dubious camaraderie of his fellow skyjackers, and he still woke up in the mornings inside that blank dark place before he remembered.

Real pack didn't care about distance. Or it cared, but only the way it cared about taste and touch compared to sight. Closer was better. Far away didn't mean _gone_ , it only meant...far away.

He crouched in the space between the loading ramp and the air-processing system, and kept that thought close to him in the literal darkness. His pack fell away into the distance, and he fell away into the Void, and it was fine. He would do what his queen had asked him to, and then--return. Be home. Be back inside the tiny two-person pack they'd assembled, her and him and that trail of people she was pulling into her wake, like the detritus a ship carried inside its fields when it jumped out of a dirty system. 

Caine could feel the pull, and he closed his eyes against it. Time to focus. He had a scent to track across a galaxy or three, until he found his target. Someone had built him for that, and by the Void, he wasn't about to start failing at his own genetic directives now.

#

Mikka pillowed her chin on her arms during study hall. School was an endless drag, but she had twenty...minutes...to go...

"Hello!"

She shifted her gaze sideways without lifting her chin. It was the new girl. Cute, in a preppy sort of way. Kinda looked like she had just walked out of a Gap ad, as one of the ambiguously ethnic girls in a "gosh we love diversity here at corporate HQ" spread in the middle of a magazine. The outfit wasn't exactly full of personality, but it wasn't terrible, either. Her name was Emily, like three other girls in that grade, and she was in four of Mikka's classes, so they'd been running into each other all day.

There was a new boy who had shown up the day before, too, in all of Mikka's other classes. It was a weird time to show up at a new school. Now that she thought about it, it was even weirder to have two people show up in the middle of the semester, on the same day, and have one of them in each of her classes. Maybe they were twins and avoiding each other. She'd have to try to remember if their last names were the same.

"Hey," Mikka said at last.

"We're on the same bus route," Emily said. Way too bright. Like a parody of a morning person. "We should totally share notes!"

"...yeah, sure," Mikka said, "whatever," and went back to wondering what her dad was going to say about Jupiter and that bizarre Vegas marriage thing tonight. At least Jupe was keeping dinners entertaining, even in her absence. Had to say that much for her cousin.

#

Nazihe snuggled a little closer to Pantalea on the couch, and pretended to be paying very close attention to her mother's projection. Her mother wasn't going to _care_ who she snuggled up against, so long as she looked very serious about taking in all this advice.

There was so much advice. It just didn't _stop_. Most of it was legal advice, which she had lawyers for, anyway. What was the point of having lawyers if they didn't handle this sort of thing? It was like--telling her how to scrub floors, that was what it was like, when everyone had bots and AIs and sometimes really disfavored servants for that kind of thing.

"Yes, Mother," Nazihe said dutifully, at the next pause in the conversation. "But honestly, I don't see why we don't just have her killed. It would simplify anything! I mean, sure, the will hasn't vested yet, but no one's even _heard_ of her heirs, so they're probably a bunch of tersies who don't know how to dispute anything, and we could send them a lawyer and tell them to sign--"

"Don't be ridiculous," her mother said sharply. "We're not barbarians. We do not simply kill our legal opponents without a properly declared feud. Least of all when they're related to us. Do see if you can convince her to be more...friendly. She ought to develop some appreciation for family, and you can provide a valuable escape route from that pit of vipers she's ascended to."

"She's not related to you," Nazihe said, which was uncomfortably close to contradicting her mother, but wasn't, exactly. She was just pointing out useful information. That was exactly what she would say if her mother claimed otherwise.

"That's why, my honeysuckle darling," said her mother, "it's your responsibility to make up with her."

"I don't _want_ to make up," Nazihe said, "I want to inherit that stock!"

"One thing at a time, Nazihe."

Nazihe didn't dare roll her eyes while her mother's projection was staring her in the face. "Yes, mother," she said sweetly, and laid her head on Pantalea's shoulder.

#

The shift change proceeded without any interruption. No emergency calls from the planet below. No sudden attacks from said planet's security perimeter. There was not so much as word one from Wise, which could have been a sign of terrible things, but far more likely simply indicated that he hadn't made any progress worth reporting.

Diomika Tsing felt that, search-and-rescue missions aside, no news was good news.

She sat down on the settee in her quarters with a cup of tea and the latest sheave from the Lieutenant Bren series. This one promised sixteen significant decision points for the reader, a meter-square space battle sequence, and absolutely no point in the story during which Lieutenant Bren filled out post-action reports or had to justify his command decisions to the bureaucrats back on Orous.

Most of her crew called the series unrealistic and implausible. Diomika was of the private and seldom-voiced opinion that she got enough realism in her own life, thank you very much, and could do with some paperwork-free escapism in her downtime.

A message arrived from Captain Warde, the alert hovering up in the air over the title display of the sheave. Diomika deleted the alert without looking at the message contents. Political maneuvering inside the Aegis command structure had its own ebb and flow, and she had never yet found that paying attention to that woman's insinuations put her ahead in said politics. Better to choose her allies wisely, handle her day-to-day operation by the book, and take risks only with real purpose.

That was another way Lieutenant Bren's stories were unrealistic. He took risks at every opportunity, and he'd never yet had to spend a century working his way back up from a demotion. Some of her crew couldn't say the same.

#

"I'm sorry," Famulus said sweetly to the projection, "but Lord Titus isn't taking calls at the moment."

"His account," said the android on the other side, "is sixteen years overdue."

"It's been a very trying century," Famulus said, "but I'm sure you understand that--"

"What I understand is that we are prepared to take legal action to recoup our expenses," said the android.

Famulus rolled her eyes. "A corporation like yours, filing a grievance against a Lord of House Abrasax? Yes, _do_ go ahead and try, I'm certain that will be worth the expense on your side."

"Unless he's found lawyers to work on the mere promise of future payment," said the corporate bot, straightening his tie, "I expect our expenses will be minimal. Even in those courts. And if he's found such lawyers, no doubt they're already occupied with the other grievances at hand. The one from his mother, perhaps?"

Famulus shut the conversation off before she said something delightful but ultimately regretful. Such as something that could be taken as evidence of issuing threats against creditors.

"There are another three calls waiting," said the meek little splice at her elbow. "Would you like to view the next one?"

"No," Famulus said. She spun around on one heel, and stalked down the corridor. "It's time to speak with his grace about contingency plans."


	10. Family Business

"Welcome back, your majesty," said the room's voice. Jupiter ignored it entirely, in favor of getting Bob seated on the bed. He'd been wobbling harder the whole walk to the room, short as that walk was, and the muttering had started once they got through the door.

Then she had to figure out how to get the thing to stop floating, since the man--android, whatever--was looking increasingly distressed. 

"It looks as if you're attempting to help a malfunctioning bot," said the child-like voice of the room. Or the room's computer. Something like that, and the details didn't seem very important at the moment. "Would you like some suggestions?"

"No," Jupiter said, "thank you! Bob, what's the matter?"

"Your veto only comes up should there be an instance of a perfect tie among voting shareholders, allowing for all shareholders who pass to not be counted in the final vote," Bob blurted out, and blinked rapidly. "Sorry!"

Jupiter crouched down in front of the bed. "I'm not sure how that's a problem?"

He straightened his tie from where the floating had set it askew. "Point three percent of the deceased's former lifespan, or three years, whichever is greater, is the maximum allowable time span between the reading of the will and the vesting of its contents. So very sorry!"

"Something's on the fritz," Ursula said helpfully, and leaned in over him. "Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Bob blinked at Ursula's fuzzy fist. "None?"

"Correct!" Ursula cupped a hand over her mouth and whispered to Jupiter, "Definitely having issues. Maybe we should call in some repair expert."

Zvi joined them at the side of the bed. "Bob," he said, "how many of those dreams did you queue while in the harness?"

"Under no circumstances other than blood feud may an Entitled stab another during an official dinner, and even during blood feud, no stabbings may occur in person or by proxy at a state dinner." Bob hiccuped. "...all of them?"

Zvi looked slightly alarmed, which made Jupiter figure she should probably be a lot more so. "That's bad?" she asked.

"They recommend no more than one per storage cycle," Zvi said, "though many androids will take two or three in a single cycle if matters are pressing. It's within tolerances if the subject matter has significant overlap. How many were there?"

"Twelve," Bob said, "plus expansions, and the veto right is an irremovable aspect of being sole primary of a House, which cannot be deployed by proxy without prior filing and approval by a simple majority of shareholders as expressed by the sums of their respective shares."

"Sometimes if you shake them hard they settle down," Ursula said. "Want me to try?"

"No! I mean--no. Don't shake the advocate." Jupiter stood up, and patted Bob on the shoulder. She hadn't even known android faces could look that woeful. "Would it help if we put you back in one of those harness things?"

"Perhaps he would be more compatible with those on the Aegis ship," Zvi said quietly.

And that made no sense at all--Kalique clearly had androids on staff, she probably had much fancier harnesses for them than the ship did, since "fancy" was clearly Kalique's middle name--until the part of Jupiter's brain that was figuring out things like local politics caught up and grabbed her. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to stuff Bob's electronic brain into a programming machine that Kalique owned.

Probably nothing bad would happen. But "probably" didn't go as far as it used to.

"We could send you back to the ship," Jupiter said. "That would be nice and...quiet. How about that?"

"I wouldn't have any way to contact you," Bob said. "Incommunicado Entitled may be declared dead after the standard period of time based on the hazard rating of their last known position: see attached tables."

"You could...uh." Jupiter pulled out her phone. No surprise that it wasn't picking up any signal, god knows how many lightyears away from Earth. It wouldn't even hold a signal in her own basement room half the time. "What does everyone use instead of phones in space?"

"Implants," Zvi said. He tapped a spot behind one ear. "Not all of them visible, though the current fashions--"

"You can get ones that blink, and sparkle, and look like they're a hat if you want," Ursula said, flinging her hands wide. "An enormous hat! Or a little hat, whatever, it's all a sim anyway at that point. But if you're going to wear a hat for looks, instead of for keeping bullets out of your brain, why not go big?"

"Is there a version of a space phone that doesn't involve drilling through my skull?"

"It's not actually a drill," Zvi begin, and then paused. "Ah. Not exactly. No. Most people have them implanted during the standard upgrades in youth, though some Entitled prefer to use plug-in ones that create their own ports. That avoids the difficulties of the installed versions being rejected during..." He hesitated again. "...times when implants might be rejected."

"Let me guess," Jupiter said. "You duck into a bath made of liquid people, turn young, and your pacemaker gets spit out."

"...yes." Zvi looked like someone who was doing an almost perfect job of not looking uncomfortable, which was sort of a neat trick.

"I remember when I left the military and they took all my good implants," Ursula said. "Now _that_ stings. I've got this scar right here--"

"Please don't show us just now," Zvi said, and Ursula stopped peeling off her jacket. "Jupiter, what would you like us to do?"

If Bob hadn't been occupying the bed, Jupiter would've thrown herself on it. It was a reasonable question and utterly impossible. The world was too full of--the world wasn't even the _world_ anymore, it was the universe, and it had too much in it for her to know where to go next. It was easier to know what not to do than pick a serious course of action.

"I don't know," she said, "find me a way to replace an unethically harvested substance that the entire galactic society seems to be based on?"

Zvi ducked his chin. "I'll see what I can do."

"I didn't mean that--" Jupiter stopped herself, that time. "No. I meant it seriously. But it's not your problem. All of this is your world, and it's no one's fault how they were made. I'm the one who's from the outside trying to change it all."

"You are entitled to make changes," Zvi said.

"It's in the name," Ursula added.

"All disputes involving one or more Entitled shall be referred to the Court of the Entitled," Bob said woefully.

"Dinner will be ready in eighteen minutes," said the room AI. "Would you like any assistance with preparations? Attendants for your hair and clothing are waiting outside."

"They can keep waiting," Jupiter said. "Ursula, take Bob back to the shuttle, then come find me. Zvi, we--did we pack the dress for dinner with family?"

It turned out Zvi had brought three dresses for her to choose from, which improved the evening slightly. And that none of them went with her gravboots, which made the evening a bit worse. Next on the shopping list: some sort of floating belt that would trigger if she fell a few feet, suitable to be worn under any outfit. Jupiter had fallen off enough high things for a lifetime and a half already.

#

Kalique's dining room looked nothing like Titus's, which was good for the whole flashback problem Jupiter felt herself developing. Not the Vietnam style flashbacks they had in the movies, where someone relived traumatic experiences and couldn't tell where he was, but those...reminders. Oh, right, this is just like that one time someone tried to kill me, and this is like that other time someone tried to kill me, and this is uncomfortably similar to when someone tried to kill my whole family... To the point that it was a relief to find white pillars and hanging vines, sweeping tapestries and a little round table that was attached firmly to the ground. No floating involved.

The dozen people holding serving dishes and napkins and bowls of water and pitchers standing in a semi-circle around the table, okay, now that was kinda weird. But Zvi had folded right into the set, like he belonged there, beside Kalique's owl-faced advisor with the fancy robes. Jupiter felt like she was starting to get the hang of how clothing worked, at least among Kalique's servants. Bright colors and skin showing meant the kind of servant who poured your water, ornate embroidery and sweeping robes meant someone serious and old and probably not just there for the decorative possibilities.

Really, none of those people had to be there. The floating robot with the candles could've floated dishes up to them. It was, if not technically the future, futuristic. They had floating robots and rooms that talked to you. No one needed twelve people standing there with a plate each just to have dinner. It was like those bathrooms with three sinks, in a house with five bathrooms already. No one needed all those sinks at once. They were just there to show that the house owner could afford them.

Kalique sat down. Jupiter sat across from her, minding where her dress fell so that it wouldn't catch on the edges of the ornate chair. An android servant with an expressionless face--like a porcelain doll, the kind the children of very wealthy families set on dusted shelves in their rooms--stepped forward first to pour a sparkling green beverage into the glasses on the table.

"I'll have water, thanks," Jupiter said. The android hesitated at her side, the pitcher ready to pour.

Kalique lifted her glass. "It's perfectly harmless."

"I think you and me have different ideas of 'harmless' right now."

"Not so different, I suspect." Kalique gave a little crook of her fingers, no more, and another servant appeared from between a set of pillars with a pitcher of clear, cold water. Probably water. It tasted like the bottled mineral water Aunt Irina preferred, and could've been hiding any kind of subtle space drugs inside.

And going paranoid about every sip of water she drank wasn't going to do her much good, was it? Jupiter had a healthy swig, and set her glass down. "Let's talk business."

"Balem's will shouldn't be a problem," Kalique said, "so long as you release your grievance against Titus." She took a sip of her drink, and smiled. "I thought you wanted to be blunt. Should we leave politics until the second course."

"No," Jupiter said. "No, let's have it out. What does Titus have to do with this stupid will problem? I don't even care about most of what's in it. They could have given it all to Nazihe, if they hadn't kept sending lawyers after me."

"Irregular. Illegal. I would have contested them on the matter, before it came to that." Kalique made another one of those elegant, minute hand gestures, and plates arrived from one servant, then a series of discrete, tiny servings of half a dozen unidentifiable food objects, each brought by a separate person. "I can loan you a lawyer, but this case will drag on for years, at enormous expense, if we don't express house unity quickly."

"I can get my own lawyers," Jupiter said, and hoped it was true. The vast sum the accountant had shown her wasn't infinite, just...vast. Space lawyers for royalty probably cost a fortune even before they started double-billing you. "What does house unity have to do with anything?"

"Only three potential heirs within House Abrasax exist," Kalique said, between casual bites of this and that across her plate. (Jupiter tried a cascade of what looked like pearl onions. They tasted like chicken.) "I am quite comfortable with my estate; you have very little; Titus has fallen into debt, and everyone knows it. With the two of you suddenly at odds, and Balem's death shortly thereafter, it appears, as any lawyer would point out, that the two of you had a falling out over your conspiracy to kill Balem and so gain an inheritance."

"That's ridiculous," Jupiter said. "Why would I conspire with anyone? I just got here."

"Because you haven't as many resources as befits your title," Kalique said. "Because Titus is explicitly not a recipient of anything from Balem's will, but would have given you whatever you needed to kill Balem, for a share of the results."

"Why would Titus want to kill his own brother?" It sounded like a stupid question once she put it that way.

"It's not as if he hasn't tried before," Kalique said. "Though I thought he'd grown into some sense, as he hasn't made any attempts that I'm aware of since our mother died."

"She protected him?"

"She protected all of us, in her own way." Kalique leaned across the table; the distance was small enough that the gesture meant something. "I would like to discuss something private, if you're willing to listen. The rest of you can go."

The servants filed away, with Kalique's owl-man at the tail end. Zvi hesitated for a moment.

Jupiter nodded to him. Anything Kalique wanted to do to her in this place, Zvi wasn't going to be able to help her against.

"There," Kalique said, once the room was empty of anyone else. "I trust my staff completely, on most matters, but this is a family matter. Now, you may have noticed that the House of Abrasax is smaller than most Entitled families."

"Didn't really have a point of comparison," Jupiter said.

"Our mother," Kalique said, and that _our_ somehow encompassed her brothers who weren't there, "built this house herself, after she was disinherited by her own grandmother. You don't have to worry about that connection; Seraphi removed that corporation in a hostile takeover a thousand years later. She had five children, two of which were disappointments."

"Are we counting Titus as a disappointment?"

Kalique laughed. "Three, perhaps. One brother married away into another family, and died, and wasn't of any account. One sister, the oldest, was her closest confidant. At her side in everything that was done in the business or in family management."

"Was," Jupiter said. "Did Balem kill her?"

"No." Kalique tapped a two-pronged fork on a delicate bowl the servants had left at the table. "Do try some of the smoked fillets, they're lovely. This sister tried to have me killed when I was, oh, seven years old? She felt I was a threat to her future inheritance. And so our mother had her killed, and transferred all those powers and responsibilities to Balem."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jupiter asked. She had tried the smoked fillets. They didn't taste anything like chicken, and she didn't want to know what they were fillets of.

"When my mother had my older sister killed," Kalique said, as easily as if they were still talking about dinner courses, "she did so _discreetly_ , Jupiter. If people see a great house fighting on itself, it's blood in the water. There was a tragic accident. The family was united. No one ever spoke of what my sister had attempted, except in the most private places. House Abrasax was strong, because it was united, and that's how we've survived. That's why Balem never had Titus killed, despite provocation, nor sent anyone after me, despite his ambitions. Now suddenly--there's a grievance, official and public, between our mother's recurrence and Titus. Balem dies suddenly. A refinery has been destroyed, hundreds of employees killed before they could evacuate--"

"I didn't think about the employees." Jupiter blurted that out when she meant to say nothing, keep a serene and serious face. Like the kind of businesswoman who dealt in planets. And she didn't see that she could've done anything differently, or find much sympathy for employees working at a refinery for processing humans, but--

Hundreds of people. Dead, because of her. Like the office worker on that stairwell, shot by assassins aiming at her, and at what point was it her fault? Was there some sort of fault percentage, where she was sixty percent responsible for the refinery workers, and twenty percent responsible for that ordinary human on Earth who'd have keepers covering up the death as something normal?

"You see how it looks," Kalique said gently. "The House fighting with itself. People will believe you went there to murder Balem."

"I should've."

"You have that right." Kalique reached across the table and took her hand. "Not by law or by code, but by who you are. If you want to take this entire house down, Jupiter, you can, and nothing I or Titus do can stop you. You can destroy House Abrasax and have all our resources scattered to our rivals. If we lose all confidence from the market so that the stock prices plummet, and Balem's property is drained away in lawsuits and out to other houses. We could all be shadows of our former selves."

"It wouldn't stop anything," Jupiter said. "Would it. I mean, the Harvests."

"No," Kalique said. "Smaller planets would be picked up by small, fast-moving corporations who strip them bare as quickly as possible, chasing the next jump in the market. Larger ones would be taken by corporations very much like ours. A little less responsible, maybe. Some might be lost at the edges and between the lines in accounting, and be destroyed by pirate harvesters. They don't work ethically or under supervision; they simply rush in, take what they can from a planet, and rush out before the Aegis can catch them. They don't dare touch anything _we_ hold."

"And if I play nice with Titus, that convinces people that I _wasn't_ conspiring with him?"

"If you drop the grievance against him," Kalique said, "call it all a misunderstanding and the Abrasax temper running wild over petty insults, then we can all testify together that there was no difficulty between you and Balem. An unfortunate systems malfunction at the refinery caused its destruction, while you were discussing the future use of that planet with him on site. Because of your unfamiliarity with Commonwealth law, you never reported his death after your very upsetting escape during the evacuation."

"It's a good story." Jupiter pulled her hand away. "None of it is true."

"Titus will swear to it himself," Kalique said.

"That whole Aegis ship knows it's not true," Jupiter said. "Captain Tsing was there."

Kalique spooned up a series of tiny black triangles from a glowing ink sauce. "Will they dispute what you say, if you tell them to support your story?"

"She's a space cop! She's going to tell the truth."

"You'll find, Jupiter, that the truth remains where those with the power to tell it say it does. All you have to do is apply that power in the right places."

Jupiter looked back over her shoulder to pillars and greenery. Her kingdom for a change in conversational topic, while she figured out what to say to any of that, which was...terrible, and probably true. Kalique was the only one who wasn't lying to her. That she knew of. "What do you think Mr. Darby and your, uh, advisor are doing right now? Are they getting dinner?"

"I expect they're gossiping madly for as long as we leave them be," Kalique said. "Malidictes gets so little chance for that sort of conversation with his peers."

#

"Three last year alone," Malidictes said, passing the bottle to Zvi, "and I'm not even counting what might've been probes in the guise of paparazzi, pushy salesbeings, or so-called 'gifts' from distant relatives. Nazihe sent a performance troupe that we fobbed off on Titus, which he sold to cover another harem purchase, and then it exploded a week later. We're still not sure if that was connected."

Zvi wished that Lady Avalia had let him learn some good curse words. He had a swig from the bottle, and passed it back. At least he was getting practice in not making faces at each sip. "Do you tell her about all the attempts? Are they all from House Salvaridis?"

"Of course, and certainly not, respectively." Malidictes propped his feet up on the couch beside Zvi, sprawling lower in his own overstuffed chair. The majordomo's sitting room was, by Zvi's standards, downright fussy with embroidery and brocade, but every man was allowed his own taste in furnishings. And if the room was dim, it was also comfortable and well-stocked with snacks and alcohol. Especially the alcohol. "You have to tell your Entitled when people are trying to kill her! But only if you're sure of it. There's no point in saying 'Oh, your grace, we just pitched six paparazzi off the balcony and they might have been assassins, not sure, your security bots zapped them all before I could save any for questioning,' unless you want her declaring grievances at every news service in the galaxy. Which does not go over well, believe me. I've seen it happen."

"You're sure about Salvaridis, sir?"

"Entirely. We trace about two thirds of the attempts, and most of those aren't worth following up on officially. Someone gets pushy, someone gets a lousy bargain the next time they deal with us. Half those attempts aren't even made to work." Malidictes had another swig, and leaned forward to offer Zvi the bottle again. "You're allowed to slouch in private, kid."

"I don't feel that would be--"

"Give it a decade," Malidictes said, "and you'll learn some code-switching too. It's the only way to get through a job like this. Now, I'm going to start listing the Houses that have sent the most attempts over the last two centuries, and you'd better be taking notes. But not recording, because if you try to use this conversation against me later, I will _end_ you, kid. Got it?"

"Entirely, sir," Zvi said. He had another sip. The longer this conversation went on, the more he needed it.

#

"Are you hitting on me?" Jupiter pushed aside her plate. "I ordinarily wouldn't ask that but given that Titus tried to marry me, I'm starting to wonder how families work around here."

"However they like," Kalique said. She seemed more amused than before, and a little more sprawled in her chair. But still elegant. Kalique was one of those people who could look elegant if someone snapped a shot of her buying ice cream from the convenience store at two in the morning with no makeup on, not that anyone would, because space royalty didn't go to space convenience stores, they had one of their hundred servants go hand-crank space ice cream for them instead.

Jupiter looked into her glass of ice water, and wondered if it was only minerals in there that she was tasting. Probably. She'd been drunk enough to know what it felt like, and this didn't feel like drunk, it felt like...punchy and tired and frustrated, from conversations about shareholder meetings and voting patterns and stock prices. "No one in my family hits on people who they're blood relations of," she said. "Although my cousin did try to get me to sell my eggs once, which is less creepy in retrospect compared to _this_ family."

"This is your family," Kalique said.

"So's the one on Earth! They're the ones where none of them ever tried to--kill me or marry me or...I don't know." Jupiter drained her glass and thunked it down. "And you'll have to excuse me if I'm having a hard time with your advice that I act like Titus didn't kill me, or like I'm just fine with planets being harvested, because of, of, stock prices and publicity and wills!"

"I only want what's best for the house," Kalique said. "Our house." She stood up, and offered Jupiter a hand. "I know that you won't make all the same decisions Seraphi did. What would the use be of recurrences, if we came back without learning anything?"

Jupiter got to her feet easily enough, but took that hand on the way. Just to be polite. "What if what I learned from being reincarnated is that it's really creepy to liquidate people and take immortality baths in them?"

"Then you'll have to consider what you want to do about that in the long-term," Kalique said. Her smile was kind, and just on the edge of condescending. "All a person can do in a short amount of time is break things. It takes a great deal of time to build something new."

"Are you just saying that to stall me while you try to convince me of your point of view?"

"My dear Jupiter," Kalique said, "you've just described all conversations. Come along." Her smile turned impish. "I have a present for you."

Well. That wasn't ominous or anything.

Kalique led her down shallow staircases and through broad hall, which always seemed to have glimpses of other rooms on the other side of arches they passed too quickly to appreciate. Quickly, for values of speed that involved a leisurely stroll and Kalique chatting about the ecosystem of the planet they were on. Kalique spoke about Cerise as if it were her garden, and one maintained by a lawn service at that. Something she enjoyed taking credit for but didn't do any work on beyond making decisions.

That seemed to be the job of the Entitled, overall. Making decisions while other people did the work. Jupiter hadn't scrubbed a toilet in days. She hadn't even made her own bed.

Zvi and the owl-man caught up with them a few floors of descent into the trip. The latter looked as somberly old and wise as ever, while Zvi looked slightly more ruffled than before. His expression was as pleasant as ever, but that didn't mean anything except that he was good at keeping a straight face. Jupiter hoped the gossip he'd been getting hadn't been anything too upsetting, and that someone had remembered to get him dinner.

"You ought to get a secretary," Kalique said to Jupiter, as the two men arrived. "You'll run the poor boy ragged otherwise."

"I don't know what I'd do with a secretary," Jupiter said. She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing with Zvi, except for getting him shot and letting him figure out what things she needed to sign. Having a majordomo meant she could delegate some of that Entitled decision-making, and maybe some day get back to doing real work herself.

"They handle all your correspondence," Kalique said. "Marvelous invention. Would you like to borrow one? Or I can recommend a factory that produces custom work within a few weeks."

"Maybe later." Jupiter wished her dress had pockets to shove her hands into. "Your alcazar certainly is big. What do you _do_ with all these halls?"

"A beautiful thing exists to be beautiful," Kalique said. "It doesn't have to do anything else." She raised a hand to indicate an archway ahead, where two of her security bots were standing. "That room, however, holds unwieldy things while I decide what to do with them. This one, I'd like to give to you."

They walked into a wide room with no windows, and only the one arched doorway. It had no furniture but a stone cabinet in the back, and no decoration aside from a series of circles on the floor. Grillwork, Jupiter realized, with each circle being the cover over...something. When she looked down into the nearest one, it didn't hold anything but a cylindrical shaft with a dull gray floor about ten feet down.

"Most of these are empty," Kalique said, and waved a hand toward the back of the room. "Seven decades back there was a border war that spilled over into this system, and I had these installed for what our perimeter sweeps dragged in, until we could decide what to do with them. Otherwise they don't do much but stand here and require dusting." One of the covers in the back began to rise, over a blue column Jupiter found familiar. This place did love using fermionics for everything they could think of; it was like electricity, but gaudier.

"Your present is a person," Jupiter said, realization catching up a moment before the occupant of that tube-cell rose up in the column. A bedraggled little man with white hair, shoulders hunched in and arms crossed over his chest. "Your present is _him_?"

"According to his tags," Kalique said, "his name is Chicanery Night, and he was the foreman of Balem's refinery near your planet. I sent a few ships that way to intercept the evacuating employees--for corporate purposes, you understand, as one really must keep track of these things--and the subsequent interrogation revealed that he was involved in what Balem did there."

"Kidnapping my family," Jupiter said. "Yes. I remember." She was four steps closer to him, and couldn't remember moving. "Oh, I remember him just fine."

"His testimony could prove invaluable," Kalique said.

"The part where he'll say Balem tried to beat me to death with a pipe?" On reflection, Jupiter wasn't sure the splice had been around for that part. The details of that fight were confused and uniformly horrible. "Or the part where Balem threatened to kill my mother if I didn't give him the Earth?"

"I will testify to whatever you wish," Night said, his eyes locked on the ground. He tilted forward, an awkward bow that collided with the outer shell of the prison he was standing in. "Your majesty."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that."

He raised his eyes, and smiled with sharp teeth. "Anything you wish, your majesty."

"If you can lie in court," Jupiter said, "you could be lying to me."

"He'll tell whatever lies are the safest." Kalique rested a hand on Jupiter's shoulder. "Rats are like that, though they're very good at refinery maintenance. Taking care of rarely used complex systems are one of their finest traits."

"I can't trust him," Jupiter said. She swallowed, and tried to clear her mind's eye of memories she didn't want. Her mother inside one of those machines. Her baby cousin, asleep, as much a discardable token for family politics as anyone else, because these people didn't care anything about children, either. Not children on harvestable worlds.

Not their own baby sisters, sometimes. That's what Kalique had said, and she'd told that story for a reason. Because she wanted to push Jupiter in some direction, and every time someone in House Abrasax gave her another story, it was another way to push her, towards marriage or giving up or giving away her planet or...to wherever Kalique wanted her. Jupiter wasn't sure what direction that was, yet, except that Kalique wanted her to be quiet and pretty and act like everything was fine. Kalique always acted like everything was fine, even when a stranger broke into her house and pointed a gun at her.

If Caine were there, he'd know what to do. But he wasn't. He was somewhere far away, trying to find another murderer. Attempted murderer. There was no shortage of those in the universe.

"If you don't trust him, even to look after his own self-interest," Kalique said, "you could always dispose of him. No one else would know. He's listed among the dead from the refinery accident. What reason is there for anyone to find out otherwise?"

Now there was a thought.

And Jupiter didn't like that she was having it.


	11. A Wretched Hive Of Fun And Villainy

Some thousand years past, a mighty House had taken its carefully nurtured planet of Zy'leki to Harvest right before the market plummeted. Forced to liquidate a few assets for the sake of not being devoured by a House with better financial planning, it had sold Zy'leki to a corporation of far lesser pedigree, which had scraped every resource worth moving between systems off the planet's surface and out of its crust. The planet had then been sold to a corporation that attached it to one of its refineries for the purposes of waste disposal and storage: their scientists predicted that after three million years, the planet would have regained sufficient native flora and fauna to be reseeded, at which point one might as well sell it back to an appropriate company.

But as no one, not even a waste disposal company, was about to sit on a planet for three million years simply waiting for natural processes to inexpensively make it suitable again, they had in the meantime sublet it to what could be charitably called a company devoted to providing low-income housing to transient populations, and less charitably a slumlord with no respect for the law.

Aegis ships spent little time near Zy'leki, except in hot pursuit of someone sufficiently important to divert an entire crew. Most of the time, people of decent nature and steady employment kept clear of the entire system. There was nothing much to be found there, except patches of primitive urban architecture on the narrow inhabitable band left to the planet. In those creaking cities, people with the sort of business that required week-by-week rents and no questions took up half the spaces, and the other half was filled with the people who catered to those sorts.

Sometimes "catering" was more like "preying", but those were the chances inhabitants of Zy'leki took. People who wanted stability didn't set up home or shop on a planet where they could be evicted at a month's notice. (Or, more realistically, at the whim of whoever controlled that section of the city.) People who wanted stability kept to planets with a real legal presence.

Caine liked the place.

He'd followed the drone operator's trail to the largest of the inhabitable cities, and stood on a second-floor walkway under a leaky awning, considering the building across the street. It wasn't the first time he'd visited Zy'leki, or the second, but it was his first to that particular neighborhood. Didn't look much different from the other he'd seen in the city. Rain sleeted down hard, and moss hung in multi-story sheets from any ledge it could grip. The skyscrapers here had all been cracked open every few stories to run tunnels and walkways across to other buildings, and then those walkways propped up with chains and fizzling fermionic pads, even _rope_ in some places, scavenged beams. Whatever people who wanted to be able to move from building to building could get their hands on. The first few floors of each building sat underwater, maybe only a meter of it on the ground floor for the ones on high ground. Nasty stuff down there. Wouldn't want to fall into that without a full course of preventatives running through your system, and maybe a good medbay to retreat to if you got a mouthful of the stuff.

It was a good place to disappear. 

Caine flipped a hood up over his head, and stalked across the walkway, which still had one plastisteel chain run along aside for a kind of railing. He didn't need it. Kept a hand on it anyway. This far out from his target, _underestimated_ was better than _clear threat_ , if anyone security-minded decided to look at him. A pair of winged lizards squawked at him from their perch on the chain, and flitted away through the rain when he didn't take their warning.

They weren't really the kind of territorial guardians he was worried about, given neither was bigger than his hand. Nice to see the planet had some native life still, though. Planets should.

The trail took him into the next building, and up. Up stairs that dated back to a tersie technology appropriate for planets like Jupiter's favorite (bad time to think about that, it was a distraction from the job) and not maintained by much more than spit and sweeping in the century and a half since. Maybe some crime lord, perching in a well-maintained suite at the top story, had sent minions down the shore things up. Maybe the stairs had collapsed entirely a half dozen times, and been rebuilt with the pieces. There were no keepers around to deploy a proper corporation's rebuilders. There were barely _carpenters_.

Not a problem for someone with gravboots, wings, and combat reflexes produced by birth and training both. He took the stairs. Some of the buildings had gravlifts, which were more dubious. Talk about a firing solution. At least stairways turned and turned, never putting him in a direct line of sight for any given floor very long. He passed floors of families packed elbow-to-elbow and cooking on actual fires. Floors with music and flashing lights. Floors with reinforced doors, bruisers standing there with a glare for his passing. Empty, gutted floors with nothing but darkness and distant glimpses of rain falling outside.

The place he wanted was in the top quarter of the skyscraper, and took up three stories of its own. A door wide enough for him to pass through with wings spread (though his were kept folded in tight, a jacket over to disguise the bulk) and not hit either side of the doorframe. The proprietor had broken those three stories into a dozen different levels, an irregular series of platforms attached to each other with ramps and stairs and ladders and hop-mats, all spiraling around the enormous mirrored bar in the center.

His military brand drew a few glances. None that lingered. This was a place where he could've walked through shirtless with the scars on his back showing, and not gotten a second look, except from someone trying to start a fight. More than half the clientele was splices, and a fair number of them had their own brands. Military splices huddling at their own tables or sprawled across piles of cushions. Two dozen sargorn taking up an entire platform, dozing and arguing and one winging her way back to the others, drinks in hand. Scrawny kids with four arms and long fingers, factory-made and maybe factory-escaped. The serving staff was mostly bots, ranging from the spotlessly pink-faced (at the bar) to limb-mangled and emitting sparks (scrubbing a floor).

A very good place to disappear, if you didn't have a lycantant on your trail. Aegis wouldn't chase this far, and Entitled would...oh, hire mercenaries, who would get only as far as they could soak their client for cash. Or send in private security, which would shoot up a few floors, point at a body to name as the culprit at random, and call the job done. Or, if everyone in the neighborhood was about to be unlucky, send in a warhammer strike to level the place, then pay the planet owner for the infrastructure damage.

So there were worse options for his quarry than him. Maybe they'd even _appreciate_ that. But probably not. They usually didn't.

#

Ahe slumped over the bar, wiggling a finger at the bartender. It sidled up to her, shiny pink face expressing professional concern. "I would like," she said, enunciating carefully, "another shot. More of the same."

"Maybe you should lay off a little," said the bot. "Think of the kids back home."

"The kids back home," Ahe said, "are one, adults." She began counting these things off on her fingers. "Two, not speaking to me anymore. Three, in another system, bless their law-abiding little hearts. Four... Give me a shot, and I'll give you a fourth reason not to care."

The bot flipped a finger back, and poured another round into her glass. Murky, milky blue, just like the sky on the world where she'd been born. Probably made of the same stuff as seventeen other drinks they offered by different names, with a different splash of coloring and flavoring. That was fine. If she'd wanted the good stuff, she would be...somewhere else. Not on Zy'leki, that damp wasteheap of a planet. Smelled like mold. The planet, not the drink, and one of the benefits of getting drunk was the wash of alcohol sending fire through her nasal passages and cutting that smell out for a while. It got everywhere. Into her clothes, into the bedding at the boarding house, into the carpet, into her lungs. She'd be breathing mold onto other people by the time she dared raise her head and leave the place for someplace warmer. Dryer. With things worth spending the bulk of her payment on.

Talk about details that had been left out of the contract. Go here, Ahe. Use this drone, Ahe. Shoot at exactly what we tell you when you see it, just wait, it'll be there. Nothing in all that discussion about _Entitled_ , no, or barbarian queens the news services were chattering over for being oh-so-ruthless. Underfunded, maybe, but willing to blow up her own family's property? Her own _family_? There was no skipping out on the consequences from that one. Not unless she was willing to squat in mildewy horror for...however long it took.

"I could hook you up with something stronger," the bartender said. It was just following the usual series of attempts at being friendly. One tactic than another, until it found one that worked well enough to draw some tips out of her. It hadn't succeeded yet. Sympathy, hearty congratulations, lascivious suggestions, and concern for her health-and-family hadn't managed. Apparently the next round was _I know a guy who knows a guy_ , or some variant thereof.

"Stronger than you sell?" She waved the shotglass at him, and had another swig. "Are you undercutting your employer now, Bartender Lex?"

"Never," the bartender said smoothly, "but there are some people with unusual offers, not the run-of-the-mill type, who pay a fee and get to make sales in here where it's dry and...pleasant." It discreetly indicated some multi-armed splice freak, probably spider and who knew what else in his genes, skulking in a corner nearby. "He makes this venom. All-natural, completely organic, perfectly safe. A nice sharp high that takes you away for a while, but nothing addictive, guaranteed. Absolutely guaranteed. Rooms where you can lock the door upstairs, at reasonable rates, if you want a longer trip. You can see right through the Void into eternity, on that stuff."

"You want me to go start sucking milkspider fingers? Really?" Ahe sat back on the stool, and had half a mind to get up. Walk away. Go...sit in her boarding house room, on bedding that always, always felt slightly damp, and, what, read the news? Watch the latest fashion show? Maybe pick up one of the new stories that would take her right up to the sweetest point and then ask for a fee to continue.

No, might as well keep drinking.

A man sat down on the stool next to her, and said, "I'll take what she's drinking." Wide-shouldered type, with military brands, and a splice, but one of the more human-looking types. Nothing much weirder than a pallor more natural than a bot's, and sharp ears. Water still spotted the back of his jacket.

He didn't smell as much like mold as the rest of the people in the bar, which was something.

"Lousy weather," she said, which wasn't her best conversational opener, but this many shots in, the man could be grateful she didn't just climb into his lap. "Isn't it?"

"Worst I've seen in hours," he said. As good as cracking a smile. "You're not local, are you?"

"No one worth anyone around here is local." Ahe finished off the shot. Those things were meant to be slammed, but they lasted longer by sipping. Looked a bit more setting-appropriate if she polished it off in one go. "You're not, or you wouldn't ask."

"I'm from a long way off," he said. "Came in on a flight from Orous."

Ahe had too much buzz in her system to twitch. Lots of people came from Orous. You could scarcely swing a detached arm without hitting someone who came from that bureaucratic wasteland. As crowded as the boarding house, most of that planet, and at six times the cost. "You're better off far from there," she said, and waved her empty shot around. "Come to lovely Zy'leki! Enjoy the weather! At least we still get weather, in this place. Hey, Bartender--"

The man slid his filled shot her way. This one, she downed in one go.

"It's funny," she said, "but you look like someone I used to know, a long time ago."

"Could be that they were the same model," he said. And it was funny. He looked familiar, but not in a way she could place. No one she'd talked to lately, that was for sure. His voice wasn't ringing any bells. Just something about the set of his shoulders, and maybe his hair.

"Maybe that's it," she said. "Same model."

"You were in the Legion at some point? Or just spending a lot of time around soldiers?" Nosy questions, coming from a stranger, but he knew how to ask them in a friendly way.

"Nah, not me. I did cargo work for a while. Running around loaders on packages too fiddly to automate, you know?" Ahe made a drone operation sort of gesture with her right hand. The last shot meant she still couldn't smell any mold. Maybe it would last entire glorious minutes. "Got boring, but it paid the bills. Maybe someone like you worked cargo handling too."

"Not likely," he said. "Most of us go into security work."

"That very interesting?"

"It can be fun," he said. "Mostly when the action starts."

#

Drunk was good. Drunk and not recognizing him from the brawl with the drone, better yet. Caine had taken a chance on that part: most drones didn't send back simple visuals, but marked-up assessment grids that pointed out what was important to their purpose, and that could make it hard to see anyone's face if they weren't the one you were sent to target in the first place. But the longer he could keep his quarry talking, the more chance he'd get useful information out of her before everything got fast and fiery.

Interrogation wasn't his usual line of work. But skyjackers were, by nature, adaptable to circumstance. The Legion didn't weld wings to your back and fling you into fights where most of your backup couldn't reach because they expected you to rely entirely on other people with other specialties.

And it had been going pretty well, until he said something about action, and saw recognition suddenly click into place in her eyes.

She was drunk, but not _that_ drunk. The human flung herself backward off the bar stool, grabbing for--not a gun, but a control panel embedded along the side of her jumpsuit.

He just had to track the one drone operator out of a hundred who owned her own damn shooter, instead of leaving it a planet away.

Enough thought. Action. He followed her over the stool. Caught her arm, not the one at the controls. Boots on, shield not up until firing started, and so far only the bartender shouting for security. Security in this place? He'd done the scan. He had three full seconds.

 _Plenty_ of time.

She scrambled, he followed, letting her run take him the direction he wanted, still holding onto her, right up until she skidded down a ramp to a platform with patrons blocking the way. Boots on. Up and over drug-hazed locals, his portal-maker slapped into the wall, and spinning itself up.

His quarry shouted something at him but it didn't matter yet. And he got through that portal in the wall before security could fire its first shot.

#

 _I'm never going to be dry again,_ Ahe thought, a meaningless detail in the middle of an assault. That gravboot-wearing maniac held her up by her shoulders, dangling so far above the ground that she wasn't sure the water down there would save her from an impact. Live through the impact, the lurkers in the water would get her. Escape those, some disease that would drain her account or kill her. She fumbled at the controls for her drone, and ended up spun about, held by her wrists.

Not before she'd set that thing on one of her custom programs. If it could just get from the hangar to her position in time. _If_ and _if_ and _if_ again, standing between her and death, and the thought of a some day recurrence wasn't much comfort in times like this. Wasn't that what religion was for? Near-death experiences?

The rain poured over them, and bar security didn't care to come retrieve her. They were outside the bar, and not its problem anymore.

"I remember you," she said, because the damn splice wasn't saying anything. Just holding her there, dangling helplessly, and she wasn't about to try kicking at him so hard that he'd break bones, or drop her. "With that Entitled. Back on Orous."

"You're not even trying to deny it," he said, sounding just a touch surprised.

"Bit late now, isn't it?" Ahe tilted her head down, more to get the water out of her face than to stop looking at him. It didn't help. "I should've known the contract was too good to be true."

"The good ones always are," he said, and that time it was...wry? Really? Almost like empathy. Maybe he'd been burned that way before too. "Tell me who hired you, and what for, and I'll let you go. No one's dead, so it's nothing personal."

"I don't believe you."

"If anyone had died," he said, "you'd find out the opposite fast enough. So trust me on this one."

Ahe sighed damply. "Not feeling very trusting right now. Maybe we could discuss this somewhere drier. On solid ground."

He pushed away through the air, and took them to a spot beneath one of the sturdier walkways. That left them with only the general dampness of the air, and what raindrops bounced sideways. Plus the exciting chance of being dropped onto a walkway far, far below, where she could break bones before hitting the water, and then see previous possibilities. Lovely.

"And now you can start talking," he said, "in this nice, dry, safe spot."

"Or, what, you start breaking fingers?"

"Would it help?"

"...I am drunk enough right now that I might not feel it. Hard to say." Ahe let out a noisy breath. "So I shot at your employer, yeah, no one died, right? That's what you said. I'm very, very sorry, and I won't do it again. Happy now?"

"Who hired you?"

"Blind drops. Nameless employer, working through a third party. You want to go shake down the information brokers from Spiceland, be my guest. Payment cleared escrow, and they wipe those records as soon as the money's out of their system."

"I've heard of Spiceland," he said.

"You showed up on Zy'leki, you'd better have! Half the jobs people take around here come through them. The cut is hefty, but it's safer for exactly this reason. I can't tell you who hired me, because I don't _know_."

The splice inhaled deeply, and stared at her. Like that would explain everything to him. "You're telling the truth," he concluded.

"See! So how about you put me back down?"

"Or you could tell me first exactly what the job was," he said, "and tell that drone nosing in on us that if it starts firing, I'll drop you to get my shield up."

Ahe went limp. Her wrists hurt and everything smelled like mold and her clothes were soaked, and she _knew_ just how much the cleaners cost around here. "I can't tell it anything unless you give me a hand free," she said.

"If it starts shooting," he said, "you may wish I'd kept that hand." The splice shifted his grip around, and let one of her hands free.

Ahe put her fingers to the controls, and--

No. If she hadn't been able to take him when she had full drone control from a nice comfortable room, she wasn't going to manage it one-handed in the rain, not without falling. She flicked the drone back down from its skulk pattern, and told it to fly in below her, nice and slow. Try and catch her if she did fall. "This has been a terrible day," she said conversationally.

"Less exciting than I hoped," the splice replied. "Now tell me what the job was. Exactly." He slid an arm around her to better support her, but there was nothing friendly about that, even if it hurt a lot less than dangling from a wrist. "I'll know if you're lying."

Really, at that point Ahe didn't even care if he would. Best to tell the truth and get back in to where the drinks were waiting. If she made it that far.


	12. What About Bob?

It took three days to--well, Jupiter was trying not to call it _escape_ , under the circumstances, but that's what it felt like when she left Cerise. There had been more clothes fittings, with Kalique insisting on her own personal tailors (she had seventeen that Jupiter had counted before giving up) putting together a dozen more outfits "for travel and what not." Garden viewings, which were fascinating for about two hours, but after a point crossing the entire surface of the planet to see how dawn looked from a particular angle across a particular landscape, and still being back home in time for an afternoon snack, stopped feeling amazing. It was just--a thing rich people did. Sure, why not travel two continents to see the flowers coming into bloom as they unfold in exquisite individual chimes timed so that the entire garden plays a symphony as it turns red? Might as well. There's the option.

Baths on the rooftop, dinners on terraces. A lot of conversations about politics and corporate finance that made her head hurt. Some sort of holographic immersive experience that Kalique called an "art film" and that made about as much sense as that one French film Jupiter had seen with a three-date boyfriend (the fourth date was not to be spoken of among her high school friends) except with even more senses on which the whole experience could be incomprehensible.

Captain Tsing had sent a shuttle down to pick up Bob, so that was one less problem to worry about. And Jupiter ended up worrying about him anyway. It was one kind of guilt when people died because an enemy was shooting at her, and another kind of guilt when someone she honestly liked and kinda knew got hurt because he was trying to help her directly. And it didn't seem like the overload was a glitch as easily fixed as Zvi's shot arm had been, because the ship didn't send Bob back down, or even any word about him. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe she wasn't supposed to care. Kalique didn't even seem to notice that she'd lost one part of her entourage.

"That's the problem with leave time," Ursula said.

Jupiter blinked, having been lost in thought during the brief shuttle trip back to the main ship. (Planet-jumper, the pilot called it. She needed to pick up on local terminology, and not be all Star Trek about things.) Cerise was pulling away in the viewscreen, from screen-filling landscape down to actual planetary size. One more sphere in the infinite vastness of space. "What's the problem?"

"Gets boring. You were looking bored, I mean." Ursula sprawled across three seats, her feet propped up on the arm of the last one and her elbows propped on the first. Her favorite rifle--the one so big it had to strap across her back--lay on the floor beside her. Trips like these were apparently safe enough that she didn't feel like being on combat footing. "Or am I not supposed to say stuff like that? Hey, Zvi--"

"You shouldn't say things like that to most Entitled," Zvi said, not looking up from the sheave he was studying. He had acquired a silver ring for one horn at some point during the stay; he hadn't mentioned how he got it, and Jupiter wasn't about to ask. "While in the service of Queen Jupiter, you ought to defer to her tastes, which render such statements acceptable."

"You spent too much time with that owl guy," Ursula said easily, and grinned at Jupiter. "I'm acceptable, right?"

"Right," Jupiter said. "That's me, idiosyncratic." And then she felt bad for saying it, because Zvi looked up, and she didn't mean it as a dig against him. "You're all doing fine. You guys _know_ what you're doing; I'm the one who's new to all of this."

"Message from the captain," said the pilot up front. "She says there's news for you, which she'll give you at your convenience."

"About Bob?" Jupiter levered herself up from her slump in the too-comfortable seat: there was a bigger, fancier one, different from all the others in the little ship, just for her Entitled ass to rest in. Nothing wrong with comfortable chairs, but she'd spent way too much time recently lounging around, or walking very slowly in trailing dresses. It was enough to make her _want_ to scrub a toilet. "From Caine?"

"She didn't specify, your majesty."

Jupiter sank back into the seat. "Tell her I'll be right there."

#

"Your majesty," Caine said, but it wasn't him. Just an image of him, like the keepers had shown her of her family's house, looking close enough to touch. Jupiter kept her arms folded on the table in front of her, so that she wouldn't reach out toward him. The conference room's back half no longer looked like itself, but some dingy alleyway, rain pouring off the sides of the staircase landing that Caine stood beneath. He was soaked through himself, with something like a high-tech hoody clinging to his chest, and--not a bad look, but not the point. Jupiter tried to pay attention to the actual message.

"I tracked the drone controller to Zy'leki," he said. "Interrogation reveals that she was hired through an anonymous contact on Spiceland."

"Spiceland?" Jupiter asked, as if he could hear, and the recording froze.

"It's an anonymous brokerage service," Zvi said, at her left side. There were plenty of chairs, but he still stood there with a sheave, as if standing was part of his job.

"It sounds like a movie about a girl band," Jupiter said. "What does it do?"

"You put up a lot of money," Ursula said, "and say you want to hire someone to do a thing, and the people there put you in contact with a person who does that thing, but they don't hand over the money until it's done. So you know you won't get stiffed, and you don't have to talk to low-lifes yourself."

"So it's for Entitled," Jupiter said.

"I don't think it's classy enough for them," Ursula said.

"I'm not sure 'class' is what Entitled have, based on some of the ones I met. Who else has money?"

"There are those with funds but without titles," Zvi said, "though those with a great deal of resources either acquire titles, or are devoured by those who have them."

"Literal devouring?"

"Not--usually," Zvi said, more hesitantly at that point. "It's not conclusive either way, though. Entitled can use this service as easily as anyone else, even if most of them prefer to contract their less legal activities through layers of servants rather than layers of strangers."

"Never heard of it being literal," Ursula mused. "When was that?"

"House Naxarar," Zvi said. "They broadcast the results. Strictly in accordance with all legal restrictions in the jurisdiction they inhabited at the time, though I believe their Queen is still barred from three galaxies."

"They literally ate people," Jupiter said. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Most people were," Zvi said. "It's not done."

"People put Regenex in _cocktails_."

"Yes," Zvi said, his long ears tilting backward, "but that's--they tend to see that differently."

It didn't seem like a good argument to have. Maybe it was better to look on it as a bright spot: galactic civilization had no problem with liquifying entire planets of people to make skin cream, but they still felt actual direct cannibalism was in bad taste. "Play the rest of the message."

The frozen rain began falling again, and Caine's image reanimated. "She had instructions to shoot near you," he said, "but not kill you. Collateral damage was acceptable, but not the point either. I don't like the way this smells. I let the operator run, but I have a trace on her. If anyone decides to erase her as as a lead it'll give me a better one to follow." He glanced over his shoulder, towards something outside the view of the recording device. "I have a few ideas. Be careful. You call me back, I'll drop everything and be there."

That was all he sent. The recording ended there with the raindrops still in the air and him looking at her. It was probably too public a message, given the way she was watching it, for things like _I miss you_ or _Don't forget me_ or anything else he might've said. Jupiter found her fingers pressing hard against the surface of the table.

"I could just call him back here," she said. It wasn't quite a question, but she meant it like one.

"You could," Zvi said politely. He could have shouted _Don't be an idiot_ and gotten the same message across.

"Wolfboy's got his nose to the ground," Ursula said, "and he'll be happier following that trail to the end. Take it from me. Nothing makes a lycantant happier than hunting, except maybe for the catching at the end." She scratched behind an ear; her thick brown hair had fluffed up into waves since some bath on Cerise, and now it puffed away from her hand like she was an actual teddy bear, and not just a large woman with some very bearish features. "And being in a pack. I've never seen one of those get so far on his own. That's what makes him special, huh?"

"Caine's special in a lot of ways." Jupiter looked away from the frozen image. "Zvi, can we send him a message? That he'll get?"

"Yes," Zvi said. "What would you like to send?"

She thought of recording something private. Threw the idea away again. Nothing was private anymore, not across a distance, with a man whose job included reading her email and telling her what pieces of it were worth her time. "Tell him to keep going, and where to meet up with us. And to be careful, too, because I want him back in one piece after this."

Zvi nodded, which probably meant he'd sent it while she was saying that. She'd have to be careful about that sort of thing; speculate out loud, accidentally sell a company, something like that.

"As long as we have a conference room, let's--" Jupiter stopped. "Wait. Are we having a meeting? Are we being corporate?"

"Pretty sure we are, boss," Ursula said. "Do you want to me to go sit on the other side of the table? Or put up some graphs?"

"Graphs of what?" Zvi asked, in what sounded like morbid fascination.

Ursula shrugged. "Graphs! That's what corporate people do, right? Graphs and charts."

"We can skip the Powerpoint," Jupiter said. "Any word from the keepers?"

"Only the expected progress reports," Zvi said. It was a good thing someone knew progress reports were expected, and was keeping track of them, and that person wasn't going to be her. "They report no trouble, threats, or signs of incipient hostile acts so far."

"Good. What about, uh, security things? Ursula?"

"Haven't shot anyone in days." Ursula patted the smallest gun at her side. "Keeping up with target practice, though! Some of Her Sweeping Lady's guards pointed me at reporter cams to snipe."

"What, the ones with canons for arms?"

"No, the cameras just--oh, you meant the guards. Yeah, those guys. Pretty friendly."

"I didn't know they could talk," Jupiter said.

"They don't," Zvi said quietly, as Ursula said, "Nah, but they point real expressively."

Jupiter attempted to imagine android guards with no arms, just canons, gesturing expressively. Her imagination wasn't that powerful. "Great," she said. "Good thing you could have some fun. What's the status on Mr. Night?"

"Turned over to the captain," Ursula said. "I got a receipt!" She started patting the pockets of her jacket. "Somewhere around here. She signed for him and everything."

Zvi tilted his sheave her way. "I have a copy. He has been cited as a material witness in your grievance against Lord Balem."

"Balem is _dead_ ," Jupiter said. "Can you register grievances against the dead?"

"I believe so," Zvi said, more hesitant now. "It may depend on his death being assumed rather than confirmed at this point. A lawyer would know."

"What about Bob? How's he recovering?"

That little pause before Zvi responded wasn't reassuring. "The head of engineering has asked for a consult on that matter."

Jupiter pushed up out of the chair. "So let's consult."

#

The head of engineering turned out to be another android: Sergeant Engineer Di, whose face was a smooth brown copy of Lawyer Tau's blue-tinted version. She wore the standard Aegis uniform, which kept the resemblance from being too creepy, though her black hair was cut in the exact same style as Tau's had been. She bowed, wiggled her fingers, and pointed dramatically to the back of the room they'd entered. There wasn't much to the place except for two steel tables on either side of the room, and a series of circles on the ground in the back.

"There," Di began, and then paused, and frowned. "That current-botched deployment system is slow, my apologies, your majesty. Do you want, uh..." She cast about the room, empty but for the three of them--Ursula was standing guard outside again--for something, then shrugged. "Smalltalk while we wait?"

"No, that's fine," Jupiter said. "We can just...wait. What are we waiting for?"

"Deployment system to bring in your advocate unit so I could point while I explained things," Di said, "but I guess we can start without. It's fast to deploy out, not so much inside, you know?" She pointed dramatically at one of the tables, and Bob appeared--no, a hologram of Bob appeared there, laid out flat with his eyes open to the ceiling. "This here is the unit you brought with you. Standard issue, fairly new, not exactly cutting edge. Good sturdy reliable multi-purpose unit."

Jupiter walked up to the edge of the table. It looked like him, but when she put a hand to his shoulder, her fingers sank through nothing but illusion. "Could you stop calling him a unit?"

"Sure, your majesty. Your android here is what we colloquially call 'Voided' here in the engineering and repair bay." Di twisted bent a knuckle down, revealing a brightly lit port, and projected a series of lines over the image of Bob. Criss-crossing blue and white outlines of what looked like a nervous system, with several sections flashing red. "The red part means--oh, here he is."

A hatch in the ceiling opened up, and Bob--probably the real one, not an illusion--descended in a harness, his eyes closed and his tie wildly askew. Di walked over to where the harness stopped, on top of one of those circles in the back, while the image on the table vanished. "Here," she said, "is your problem," and projected the lines over Bob himself. The flashing red was centered around the back of his neck, then running through his shoulders and arms. "See?"

"...no," Jupiter said, "I don't know what that means. What do you mean by _Voided_?"

"As in, you might as well pitch this one out the airlock, because it'll cost more to fix than the unit--than your employee is worth."

"I'm not about to pitch him out anything. I hired him!" Jupiter didn't say _And he's a friend_ , even if she was thinking it, because it seemed like a lot to say about someone who was just working for her. But he was one of the handful of reliable people she'd found in the world, and he was only broken because he'd been trying to help her. "What happened?"

"You probably would get something from parts salvage." Di turned her hand, and the red parts expanded to show a throbbing series of...traffic jams? A tangle of peculiar blobby threads all trying to push past each other, and failing. "And you could file a claim with the Aegis and expect compensation for your whole employee, once you shove the claim through the red tape. This wasn't all our fault, but it's partly our fault. We let a civvy unit hook up to a harness designed for combat units. Those can download a few dozen environmental response and chassis upgrade dreams in three hours, because they're simple units. Not a lot of moving parts to get in the way, limited set of dreams to implant into all that wide open space. You get a civ unit with a real-mood upgrade hooked into there, and try to feed into a bunch of dreams made to implant in any unit at all, there's a whole lockup between integration and personality maintenance, understand?"

Jupiter wrapped her arms around herself. "Zvi, what did she just say?"

He drummed his fingers along the edge of his sheave. "Bob tried to put too many upgrades into his system at once than was safe. The harness here let him, because it's designed for combat androids who don't have individual personalities. His system is trying to learn all this information and these skills while keeping his personality _him_ , and it got locked up because it can't do both that quickly."

"But you can fix him," Jupiter said to the android in front of her. "You said it was expensive, not impossible."

Di raised her hands, making the projection wobble away from Bob and onto the far wall. "Your majesty, I could try, and you'd end up with a nice law-spouting civ unit with a brain tuned for shooting things. It's not a good combo. I don't want to get called up in front of a review board because your advocate shot a lawyer who was making hostile statements, right? You need a real prof, if you want to fix this."

"Then we'll get a pro," Jupiter said. "Can you keep him from getting worse, until we reach the next destination?"

"Sure, that's easy." Di strode over to Bob, and flipped open a panel in his neck. A little tinkering with some fine tool in her left thumb, and his whole body...slumped. It had been inert before: now he looked _dead_. Lifeless, instead of frozen. "Complete shut-down. I wouldn't normally go for this, because restart's such a mess, but any pro who can fix this blockage can reboot him without hiccups."

"What kind of hiccups? --no, never mind, I don't want to know. Zvi, find me an expert and have them meet us there."

Zvi nodded, and tapped at his sheave. It was that easy, when she decided to accomplish things. Do this, and someone would get it done.

"I'll get him packaged up for easy transport," Di said. "Do you want to borrow a temp while you're here?"

"A temp android? For what?"

"I don't know, your majesty. Whatever you had that one for."

"Bureaucratic advice," Jupiter said. "And law."

"Not so many of those on board," Di said, "but if you decide you want one who'll shoot anyone that looks at you funny, just page me, and I'll get one powered up for you."

"Um," Jupiter said. "Thanks. But no thanks." She left the room, collecting people along the way, and leaving Bob behind. Lifeless and limp and being boxed up like a corpse. It didn't feel right.

"The manufacturing moon has several android experts," Zvi said, at her right side like always, while Ursula ambled along behind them. "I've alerted them to be prepared to conduct preliminary diagnostics on our arrival, so that repairs can begin quickly when a mind repair expert arrives."

"Why isn't there anyone there who can fix him?" Jupiter asked, and knew it was an unfair question. What did spaceship manufacture have to do with androids, anyway?

"There aren't many people who can do this sort of work," Zvi said.

"Because this problem almost never comes up?"

"Because it's less expensive to replace the entire android," Zvi said. "It takes enough time and equipment that few people bother to conduct repairs at this state of damage."

"But they're people," Jupiter said. "They have opinions, they have personalities, they have skills, they're _people_. Engineer Di, back there! She's a _sergeant_. She has a job, and coworkers, and...she still thought I should just dump him. Because it's cheaper?"

"Yes," Zvi said, unhappy and trying again not to show it. Because he had an employer who kept saying things normal people didn't.

Jupiter's opinion of normal people in the galaxy was dropping all the time. Or not even that, because most of the normal people she'd met were fine. Bob was helpful, Zvi wanted to do his best, Ursula jumped to everyone's defense at the first opportunity. They were all good people who wanted to do their best.

And they all didn't see any good reason to keep Bob if he'd be more expensive to fix than he was worth. She was his employee, not his owner, and they all just shrugged, as if pitching a contract employee out the airlock, or dismembering him for parts, came up all the time. As if she had a right.

"It's not right," she said.

"Pardon?"

"It's not right," Jupiter said, instead of passing over it or pretending she hadn't said anything. "Throwing people away just because they're sick. How soon can an expert arrive?"

"I'm still waiting on responses, but I would expect no sooner than four days. Possibly longer."

"He'll be fine," Jupiter said. "We're going to get someone in to fix him, and--" She stopped, right in the middle of the corridor, to face Ursula and Zvi directly. "That's how it's always going to be. Understand? If anything happens to people who work for me, I'm not going to give them up--not any of you--like you're _spare parts_ just because it's expensive to deal with. We'll figure something out. Assume that if someone gets hurt, I want to help them."

Zvi and Ursula exchanged glances.

"Sure thing," Ursula said easily. "No splice left behind."

"Does this hold true if the repairs require Regenex or similar materials?" Zvi asked.

"Yes," Jupiter said. She'd think about the implications later. There were enormous stockpiles in Titus's ship, and probably the same in her own. It was already there, and she wasn't saving anyone yet by not using it. "Even then. That's what we're doing for now."

She didn't believe in the devil. It still felt like making a deal with one.


	13. There's Something About Emily

"You're too picky," Mikka said. "I mean, you're already down to ten percent of the population--"

"As are you," Zachary pointed out. He sprawled low in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, because the substitute teacher in the study hall had made it pretty clear the day before that so long as no one was bleeding, screaming, or on fire, she didn't care what people did in that period. There was an actual poker game going on in the center of the room, and Mikka might've dragged Zachary into it for the weird novelty of the whole setup if Emily hadn't already been in the game. 

So instead she was clustered up with her best friend, at the back of the room, with desks dragged around in a clear sign of No Weird Clingy Strangers Allowed. And Emily wasn't socially clueless enough to push in through that, even if she was way too chummy otherwise. Emily and her maybe-brother Travis, who sat next to her in each of her classes, depending on which of them was in it, and kept trying to sit near her at lunch. It would've been flattering if it hadn't been so...sudden. Inexplicable. Something.

"Yeah, but I'm not dating until college," Mikka said, "at least according to my dad, and I don't spend all my time complaining about not getting laid. So think about it. What's wrong with Travis? He's not in any sports, or any clubs, and he's not bad-looking."

"He's just weird," Zachary said. "And he's probably straight."

Mikka privately agreed on both points. "You're not _sure_ , though. You could ask."

"You can't just ask a guy if he's gay, Mik-Mikka-Mickey. You doof."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up. And you can too. Just do it somewhere you won't get punched if he's a phobe."

"Like where?"

"I don't know, the hallway? I'll stand behind you and look threatening."

"He'd just say yes to get close to you," Zachary said. Not sourly, which was one of the nice things about him. He could be an asshole, but he wasn't a bitter asshole. It was one of the things they'd bonded over when they met back in middle school. Life sucked and adults kept driving the whole world into the ground, but, hey, that was what it was, might as well do something fun meanwhile, right? Right. "He is so into you."

"He's not," Mikka said. "...he's _not_ , god, don't make that face, you look like an idiot. He's probably just trying to figure out how to ask me if you're straight."

Zachary snorted. "And I'm the pope. HEY, EMILY."

"No shouting," said the substitute teacher, not looking up from her phone where she sat at the front of the class. Meanwhile, Emily's head popped up from the cluster of poker players in the middle of the room, like in one of those meerkat documentaries. And then there was no escaping her.

"Hi, Zachary," Emily said, pulling a chair up to sit right next to them. "Hi, Mikka!" She just about radiated heart symbols when she said that, and it _was_ weird. That was the one and continuing word to describe Emily, her brother, and maybe their whole family. "Whatcha need?"

"Mikka wanted to know if your brother Travis is straight," Zachary said blandly, and Mikka punched him again. "Ow! You're the one who said it was normal to ask."

"I don't know, but I can ask," Emily said, like this was perfectly normal conversation where she came from. And like it was normal not to know. "After school, I'm going to this place that lets you design your own cookies and bakes them for you there. Do either of you want to come? Travis will be there, too."

"No," Mikka said quickly, before Zachary could try answering for her, "I've got homework and my dad's really strict about being home on time."

"Maybe some other time," Emily said, and went back to her poker game, still all...perky. Weird perky. Like it wasn't possible to say anything that would make her disappointed or angry or confused or annoyed.

"Weird," Mikka said.

" _Into_ you," Zachary said, and that argument took up the last ten minutes until the bell rang.

#

There was a bus available. Emily and Travis had started using the same bus, a week after they arrived, and Mikka just wasn't in the mood for friendly people she didn't know, and so she skipped pick-up entirely. The walk home took half an hour, but that wasn't all that bad, most days. Besides, the weather was that nice mix of neither pouring nor boiling that would only last another week or two, so why not take advantage of it?

Mikka was cutting through an alley that saved her from a really tedious streetlight section--a perfectly safe alley with good lighting and lines of sight, one that had never caused her any trouble before--when thunder hit her.

That was what it felt like. She was gasping on the ground, belly down on the pavement so fast she hadn't even tried to catch herself, ears ringing and bones shaking. Like the sky itself had just shouted so loud at her back that it knocked her down. Mikka lifted her head and felt blood running down from her nose. The dumpster ten feet away was more like twenty feet away now, still rocked on its wheels, where the shout or whatever had knocked it.

"Keep your head down, little girl, and don't move," said a man behind her. Above her? She couldn't see him, only hear his voice. Amused, in an accent she'd never heard before, and Mikka froze because there was no knowing. Not without looking back. Too late to fake being unconscious, though. Was that what being tazered felt like? Except that one boy in her geometry class had been tazed before, and it didn't feel anything like he'd described it.

She held very still, trying to see options. There weren't any good ones. The end of the alley was a straight line with nowhere to hide. A door in the alley bulged inward just before that dumpster, like the same thing that hit her had hit the door with a giant fist, but it was still closed and probably locked. Her hands where nowhere near her cell phone.

"Good girl," said the man, and boots dropped to the ground beside her, from who knew where. Somewhere up. He grabbed her wrist, and a soft band snapped shut there. "If you do what I say--"

He didn't finish the sentence, because Emily stepped into view at the mouth of the alleyway, and shot him.

Shot him. With no gun. Like she was firing a bolt of blue out of her bare hands, when it made no sense that Emily would even be _there_ instead of on the bus with her brother, home by now wherever they lived, and Mikka decided, in a vague sort of way, that instead of wondering about Emily's living arrangements she was going to scramble to her feet and start running. Away.

"Mikka!" Emily shouted. "Wait!" 

That wasn't convincing on an ordinary day and it wasn't convincing when a look back over her shoulder showed Mikka that a large man in strange, dark clothing was stretched out flat on the ground, a chunk of his shoulder shattered into red and black pieces across the ground.

Mikka ran.

Behind her, things made sounds she couldn't describe, loud and violent but not gunshots. Oh, no. There were gunshots. Mikka ran down the street, didn't even look to see what other pedestrians were doing in reaction, didn't look behind her to see what the rest of it meant. She skidded through the front door of a Wendy's like the cops were after her, and ran right back into the bathroom.

Into a stall. She closed the door, climbed up on top of the toilet, and tucked her chin down on her knees. It was a terrible hiding place, and that meant no one was going to look for her there, right?

Maybe?

She couldn't hear anything from the alley that far away, even though it had been deafening in there. Nothing but the bathroom fan, and the music piped in through the speakers overhead.

Mikka pulled out her phone, and stared at it. 911 made sense. 911 made no sense at all. What was she going to tell them? That someone tried to grab her in an alley and then her classmate shot him and...it didn't make sense. It didn't. She didn't even know the address of that alley, if the people on the line asked, and what if they thought she shot someone? What if they started asking questions about her family? It wasn't safe.

She called her mom and her dad in quick succession, and only got voicemail for both. No calls during the day: people had work to do. Jupiter hadn't answered her phone in ages, not since she disappeared for the Vegas wedding. Her aunts weren't going to answer, not with all the work they had to do in house-cleaning and a third of the team missing.

Vladie actually picked up when she called.

"Look, Mikka, I'm right before the boss fight--"

"Someone tried to kidnap me," Mikka blurted out. There wasn't any good way to build up to it.

"I'm trying to watch a video on how to fight this guy! I don't have time for joking--"

"And someone _shot_ him," Mikka said. "Vladie, I'm serious! I think maybe Jupiter is--in the mob, or married to someone in it, or maybe she's going into witness protection. I don't know, but I don't know why anyone would do this, he couldn't just be some creep trying to grab girls in alleys because that doesn't explain why Emily _shot him_ , or how she shot him, or what he hit me with--"

"Wait, what? Who's Emily?"

"You have to go lock all the doors," Mikka said. "Right now. Lock all the doors in the house and take Moltka and go downstairs and if anyone knocks on the door don't let them in. Just do it!"

"Don't be--"

There was a fizzing sound on the other side. And a thump. The sound of someone breathing.

"Mikka," said someone on the other end. "Are you safe? Where are you?"

"What did you do to Vladie?"

"It's Travis." That was the voice. Except he didn't sound like himself, not the cheerful way he was in classes, but calm and careful, like an adult trying to talk a kid into getting a shot from the doctor. And this time the doctor's shots were real bullets. "Your cousins are fine. They're perfectly safe. We're going to keep everyone in your family safe. We just need to know where you are, so we can come get you. It's all going to be fine, Mikka, just tell me where you are--"

Mikka canceled the call.

Then she powered down her phone.

And then, with only the briefest moment of angry hesitation, because it had taken her _how long_ to convince her dad to buy this for her--too long, that's how much--she dropped the phone into the toilet. 

She left the Wendy's by the employee exit in the back, because it was easy to say something about a stalker boyfriend and needing to get out of sight and please don't tell anyone I was here. Then all she had to do was try to remember how to get to Zachary's house on foot. All reason aside, her dad didn't believe in sleepovers at boys' houses, so no one was going to look for her there.

Probably.


	14. Economies of Scale

The Aegis ship gated into the system at a polite distance from the single inhabited planet. A standard contact hail, aimed in the planet's general direction, was picked up by the smaller of two moons in orbit there.

Regards from Captain Tsing. A formal welcome from Administrator Iones. A brief exchange, less terse in each subsequent comment, establishing all the necessary protocols.

The ship banked smoothly towards the smaller moon. What its sensors had detected on system entry (and information banks had known since they were installed on the ship) rapidly became apparent on the screens inside the ship, and then to the naked eye as projections switched over to real-light view. There was no true surface to the satellite: its outer layer was a criss-crossing set of struts and hatches and docking beams, all open to the Void.

The naked human eye could not see the habitable pods inside, clustered together like bunches of grapes. Various people on the Aegis ship had eyes either not entirely human, or not entirely naked, and thus could distinguish the specks crawling between pods and struts: construction vehicles, each large enough to swallow the approaching ship whole and have room for spare parts left over.

The larger moon was still, lifeless, and completely natural. A series of discreet automated ships patrolling nearby ensured it stayed that way. Meanwhile, the Seraphi Shipyards, orbiting the same bright blue planet, held more intelligent life than any other discreet habitable unit in a ten light year radius.

This was not a high bar to clear.

#

"...and while it's not required that you stop at the shipyard before proceeding to your alcazar on-planet," Zvi said, "it might be politic."

"Then I'll stop and say hello," Jupiter said. "I mean, I'm here to pick up a new ship and let Captain Tsing get back to her regular work, not to lounge around in _another_ retreat." She paused in working her way through a bowl of...whatever it was that they kept serving her for meals on the ship. It didn't taste bad--something like potato salad, if she had to come up with a description of it--but it wasn't thrilling when it came several meals in a row, either. "This is your way of hinting that I should change for the occasion, isn't it."

"Hey," Ursula said, from where she sprawled over a bench with her own bowl of not-potatoes, "you're pretty good at that."

"Picking up on the obvious hints? I try."

Zvi lowered his sheave slightly. That was one of his stock gestures: tilt the sheave down, look at her directly, show that he was serious about what he meant to say. It didn't come across as acting, exactly. More like a set of manners only he had to follow. "It would depend on the image you wish to project."

"I want to show up and have them think, 'There's a competent woman who won't get in the way of our jobs. We shouldn't betray her.' Does that need a cape?"

"Do you wish to be awe-inspiring, or approachable?"

"Approachable?"

"No cape. I suggest the pale blue semi-formal, and the silver hairpiece."

"Not the big spiky one. That is _not_ approachable." Jupiter pushed the remains of her meal aside, and stood up. "The circle one?"

"Precisely."

He was too polite to correct her on the name of that thing. All of the jewelry had precise, technical names, which Zvi knew by heart and she couldn't keep straight. She could tell a diamond from an amethyst and name a few gemstone cuts; that was not up to the task of distinguishing a thick silver ring that could slide down one finger from a silver cuff that hooked over two joints of the same finger. Tell them apart by sight, yes. Remember what each was called, no. But it mattered to him.

"Pick out whatever is appropriate," she said, "and...what am I supposed to do while I'm there? Probably more than say 'Hi, nice to meet you, I'm here for my ship.' Is it ready yet?"

"Not for two more days," Zvi said. "We also need to review the crew complement, especially as regards the security staff."

"I thought we already ordered security people. The honor guard."

"Yes," Zvi said, with a glance towards the window in the room. It showed nothing but stars outside, and definitely not an incoming ship with a bunch of android guards to walk around and shoot at things on her behalf. "However, I would recommend a secondary, more versatile security detail. I meant to consult with Mr. Wise on the matter before presenting options to you, but it seems unwise to send him long communiques at the moment."

"Can it wait?" Jupiter paced the length of the cabin. "Ursula, what do you think? You're doing my security."

The bear-splice scratched under her chin. "I say you've got enough people shooting at you that you're gonna want more than the cannon boys, even if so far people shot to miss. Get a pack of lycantants and that'll cover most anything. They sell them by the six-pack in most factories."

"I'm not trying to _replace_ Caine," Jupiter said, sharper than she'd meant to.

"He's a lycantant, they're lycantants..." Ursula shrugged broadly. "They'll love each other. What they're made for. Or maybe, what are they, the ones with the horns and the big feet-- Zvi, you know the ones. Lousy on offense, great on defense, pound you into the floor if you touch the ones they're watching for. Good with kids."

He frowned at his sheave. "Wildebeest?"

"Those! Few dozen of those, cheaper than lycantants, you're good to go. Lousy eyesight close up, but you can't have everything."

"They coordinate well in black and gold," Zvi offered.

"What about bee splices?" Jupiter asked.

Ursula shrugged. "Does anyone even do those? Hey, do I need to change my shirt for this thing?"

"Yes," Zvi said, "and yes, you know the one. Without the flowers. A few splicers do work with bees, though they're not the most popular choice. It's difficult to integrate relevant portions of the genetic code while retaining a human-style mindset, as I understand it."

"I like the shirt with the flowers on it," Ursula said. "It's colorful."

"You're the only security figure available to follow behind the queen," Zvi said, "so do _work_ with me, Ms. Opeatrix." He cleared his throat. "My apologies. That came out more harshly than I intended."

"I've had harsher from service bots," Ursula said, and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't stress so much. It'll all be fine, right?"

"Right," Jupiter said, because once again everyone was looking at her.

#

Even after Orous, with its enormous rings of superstructure and bureaucracy, it was strange to watch struts sweep past while standing on the bridge of the Aegis ship. Spaceships were supposed to move through space, not through what looked like an unfinished skyscraper in the shape of a moon. The dress Jupiter was wearing also reminded her of the oddity of the situation: she was never an Aegis crew member, but usually she dressed like everyone else on the ship, while she was on it.

Just a passenger again. Royalty, being conveyed. That was what Captain Tsing had picked her up for in the first place. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to remember that it wasn't exactly friendship, but a courtesy done to her rank. Something she was entitled to, along with the complimentary parking back on bureaucracy world.

She would've liked to be friends with Captain Tsing. But there was no clear way to get there. She couldn't just sit down beside the captain and chat about TV or fashion or how bad traffic had been lately. In space, even the weather wasn't a useful conversation starter to see if someone wanted to talk more.

When Caine got back, Jupiter decided, she'd ask him how people in space made friends.

Or, on second thought, she'd ask Stinger the next time she got home. Or his daughter! Kiza had seemed friendly enough. That was someone who probably knew how to navigate Earth culture and intergalactic culture, and could give her some pointers.

"We'll hold position in this system until your honor guard arrives," Captain Tsing said. In the image ahead, a sort of metal basket was swinging in to attach to the ship. "It has been an honor and a pleasure to assist you, your majesty."

_I wish you could stay longer_ probably wasn't the right thing to say to a busy space cop with other duties. "The pleasure's been mine," Jupiter said. "Honest. You've already saved my life at least twice."

"It is our duty," Captain Tsing said. She watched the screen steadily as attachments did attaching things, presumably in the way they were supposed to. "Off the record, Jupiter, I recommend that you take care with any sudden contact from other Aegis captains in this sector. You can always send word to my ship if you want any advice on which ones to consider...reliable."

And that was the last, unsettling comment Jupiter got from the captain before it was time to descend.

#

The column of blue light lowered Jupiter from the Aegis ship to the ground floor of an assembly chamber with breathable air. When she looked up through the sparkling, the transparent shield between atmosphere and space was faintly visible overhead, as a sort of secondary shimmer. Below, the ground was...a long, long way down. The room, if she could even call it that, was as tall as a skyscraper, and wider than she could see. Pieces of ships lay in delicate cradles or spun, suspended, in every direction, with tiny human-shaped figures crawling over half of them. It was like being inside a mechanic's garage, for some giant futuristic version of a car mechanic.

As she descended, people assembled on the floor below. When her gravboots neared the ground--Zvi had objected once to them as inappropriate for the outfit, but she knew better than to go to a space station without a specific way of not falling to her death, in case it came up--there were two columns of people, one to each side of her.

Her boots clicked onto the floor, and all those lined-up people dropped to their knees, heads bowed. For her. It was creepy and flattering all at once. The ones nearest her looked to be mostly human, with a few androids here and there, though at least one of them had delicate fairy wings sprouting from his back. They all wore gray uniforms with a logo patch on the chest. Shipyard workers, then, dressed for the job. Dressed for the jobs they had all interrupted to come kneel to her personally.

And down the corridor formed by the two lines came striding one of those winged dinosaur people. Saurians? Sargoids? Sargons, that was the term, and this one wore a gray shirt in the same style as all those uniforms, and a heavy collar of interlocking steel plates.

Ursula and Zvi touched down behind her, and Zvi immediately stepped up to Jupiter's side. "Administrator Khagilik Iones," he murmured in her ear. "She's been managing the shipyard for the last seven years, since her predecessor retired. No serious complaints registered, though I would recommend a full audit as time allows."

The sargorn stopped several steps away, and bowed deeply. No kneeling, though, which was apparently for lesser people in the company. "Your grace," she said, "we bid you welcome. The entire shipyard is ready for any inspection or command you wish to make." Her voice was as deep as the voices of Balem's sargorn bodyguards. But why not? People descended from giant lizards could have any sort of voices without matching human trends.

"I'm sure it's all in good hands, Ms. Iones," Jupiter said, and the sargorn woman nodded as if she'd said exactly the right thing. Probably the exact same response would have followed any damn statement, because no one liked to disagree with royalty except other royalty. "I have an android who needs careful storage until a repair expert can get here to look at him. Once that's handled, I'd like to see my new ship."

_My_ new ship. Weird to say it just like that. She couldn't say _my planet_ easily yet either, even though she had more than one. Kalique could talk about planets like they were McQueen dresses, and Jupiter could imagine having that many dresses, but that many planets? How did a person even wrap their head around it?

But she'd gotten her head around having people show up to design clothing exclusively for her, so maybe everything was possible, given enough time.

_Enough time_ was another one of those uncomfortable concepts.

Two of the Aegis crew came down with a gray pod that looked uncomfortably like a casket. No gurney for Bob, the way her family had been laid out, unconscious, after their rescue. Advocate Bob got a sealed case instead, and Sergeant Engineer Di fussing a little over sheaves and signatures before handing it over.

Iones then promised to store the case in the most secure vault of the shipyards, which seemed a bit unnecessary. Who would try to steal a malfunctioning advocate? But Jupiter appreciated that people were taking her seriously, whatever they thought about her priorities.

"Now," Iones said, with another deep bow, "we shall take you to your ship, your grace." She smiled with enormous pointed teeth. "I shall lead the way." She clapped enormous hands, and the two lines of shipyard workers broke up. 

Most simply stood and walked away, back to whatever they would've been doing otherwise, but the big-eyed splice with fairy wings tapped a bracelet on his wrist. A silver chariot floated toward him. When he had settled into place in a very low seat at the front, so tucked into the machinery that looked like a figurehead, he floated it to Jupiter. "For in-dock transport, your majesty," he said, head ducked very low. His wings fluttered.

"I can really just walk," Jupiter said.

Iones offered another bow. They were practically a kind of punctuation. "We use vehicles for personnel transport inside this dock," she said, "because of the gravity set in place. If you wish, we shall alert the workers and turn off the gravity in here."

"...chariot's fine," Jupiter said, and sat down in the seat that Zvi nodded to discreetly. It was like the world's most elegant La-Z-Boy, complete with automatic reclining as soon as she leaned back, and far too much sparkle. Not everything in her life had to sparkle. Accents were great.

Zvi and Ursula took standing positions on the space just behind the chair, and the whole chariot lifted up into the air. Iones simply spread her wings out, and launched upward without any vehicle at all.

"Nice," Ursula said, at Jupiter's right shoulder.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Ursula said, in a tone of airy innocence that wasn't convincing in the slightest. "I was just admiring those wings."

"Ms. Opeatrix," Zvi said, in a quelling tone. "That's inappropriate."

Ursula was not particularly quelled. "What, a woman can't admire some nice wings? Caine's are pretty enough, but I'm not into feathers. I'm just saying that Ms. Iones has, you know. Nice wings."

"That's not appropriate conversation while in public," Zvi whispered.

"Bet she can't hear me from here." But Ursula quieted at that point, one hand resting on the back of Jupiter's chair, the other settled as usual on a sidearm. When Jupiter glanced back, the bear-splice was grinning widely, with teeth almost as sharp as the sargorn's.

It seemed best to just...not ask.

The chariot flew past one of the incomplete ships, arcing gently sideways. There was no sense of motion in it; Jupiter might have been sitting in a chair on the floor, as opposed to riding in a flying platform banking around at what looked like eighty miles an hour, for all that she could feel it. It made her want to step right out and make her own way on the boots. At least with those, she could tell she was still moving without looking at an object and thinking about how large it was as it passed quickly.

And then her ship came into sight, and Jupiter stopped thinking about matters of inertia entirely.

It looked like a tulip bud the size of the Aon Center laid on its side: a vast tapered shape of dark gold, made of petals pressed tightly together. There were no visible windows or ports or anything to mar the burnished surface, and yet the shape managed to radiate a little inexplicable menace. It was a giant tulip bud that was ready to murder someone if they looked at it funny, if there was any emotion to assign to a ship like that. Probably a ship. It was in a shipyard, so it only stood to reason.

Administrator Iones landed on a hovering platform, and the winged man at the front of the chariot docked there. Jupiter stepped out with her tiny entourage to stare at the ship from there. "How do you get _in_?"

Iones smiled with all those teeth, wings draping behind her like a cape. "This is its defensive deployment," she said. "It can survive five direct hits with tachyon-burst missiles before so much as picking up a scratch."

Jupiter glanced at Ursula, who looked thoroughly impressed, and maybe a little bit in love with the ship. Though it was hard to tell if that expression was aimed at the ship, or at Iones. "Impressive," Jupiter said. "Can it do anything while it's like that?"

"Ideally it enters this mode after deploying the warhammers, but it has several burst weapons and warp-missiles that can function from this position."

Jupiter nodded as if that had made any sense. She would just have to ask Ursula or Caine for an explanation later.

"For a more aggressive stance," Iones said, and gestured dramatically with a large hand. "You might wish for this mode, your grace."

The tulip bud opened. Petals spread out on two sides, and pulled back further, until they weren't petals anymore, but the feathers of two vast mechanical wings. None of those feathers quite touched each other, or the ship's core, but had that faint telltale shimmer of blue that said fermionics were keeping everything in place. The center of the ship was a golden egg for an instant, then split itself out to reveal enormous ports--for views or for the entrance of smaller ships wasn't clear--and a bristling array of what were probably weapons. Or sensors. Or something technical that Jupiter couldn't possibly understand, which probably held true for the weapons and the sensors anyway.

"Wow," Jupiter said. "That...really looks like something." Ursula hadn't changed expression since Iones had started talking about armor and weapon specs, which was no help, and Zvi was looking professionally solemn, which didn't help either. "Do you have a copy of all the details that I could look over later?"

Iones produced a sheave dramatically--she seemed to be a woman who liked a dramatic gesture, given the opportunity--and Zvi stepped forward to take it before Jupiter could make any sort of move that suggested she might carry her own things. "I've marked the areas that may still be adjusted to your tastes without delaying completion," Iones said, with a duck of her head. "And crew suggestions are in the attached files."

"Do you supply the crew here?" Jupiter hadn't given much thought to that part yet, but it seemed reasonable that a shipyard wouldn't just have a lot of ship crews sitting around waiting for a gig. Maybe a few people to spare while she hired everyone she needed, at most.

"We have a factory deep in the core," Iones said, "producing all standard entry-level personnel, and a small training school for specialists and officers."

"Factory," Jupiter said. "They're androids?"

"We do have a wing for those," Iones said, waving a hand towards...wherever that was. Somewhere deep in the enormous fake moon. "However, our primary production output is splices. Primarily murintants, of late. We find that the social and nesting instincts translate well to crew camaraderie and keeping the ships in good repair, and then we use the rat subsets for weapons training because of their higher natural combat instincts. There may also be an experimental dozen litters of calomyscidants for merchant ship support, though I don't imagine those would be of any interest to your grace."

"Oh," Jupiter said. "No." Factories of litters of splices in types she couldn't identify, all growing up like Zvi or Ursula with the expectation of being sold off to employers later on. Hundreds or thousands of _children_ , deep inside the shipyard. And no one had thought to mention them before, because why would they? They were just ship parts, like anything else.

Even knowing Bob, it had been easier to not think about ship crew construction when she thought it was only androids being built. Androids had to be built in factories: that stood to reason. They were, she assumed--and was suddenly unsure of the assumption--made as adults, sent out into the world ready to take on a job, and so it wasn't that bad that they might be built in a shipyard alongside ships. It was as natural as a robot got. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around a whole set of nurseries and school rooms inside a shipyard.

Full of children that she owned.

It was like suddenly being a mother. But no one expected her to care about any of it, unless she wanted to know what the profit was like. Zvi hadn't said a thing about splices being made. _He_ would have noticed, if anyone did, and even he didn't mention them.

The administrator was watching her. A level stare that couldn't be called insolent, because that was a ridiculous old-fashioned word to use and mostly about children, but not in a way that had a lot of respect for an Entitled who suddenly froze up in the middle of a conversation.

"I'll look them over the sheave tonight," Jupiter said, "and send back my comments." She was trying to sound regal, and had the uncomfortable feeling that it had sounded more like a promise to do her homework on time.

"Very kind, your majesty," Iones murmured, and swept a bow that was, of course, dramatic. "Would you care to see the android repair facility where your employee will be stored?"

"Yes," Jupiter said, and was almost grateful to get back to the chariot. No one in the chariot was judging her. That she knew of.

When Iones was in flight again, Jupiter leaned back in the seat and whispered to Zvi, "Is it supposed to be that military?" It was easier to address the ship issue than anything about the factory. They could talk about crew later.

His ears tilted back. "Do you not want it to be military?"

That was a suspicious lack of direct answer. "I just mean that--a ship like Titus's didn't seem to be all about weapons. And defense. And defensive weapons."

"Under the circumstances," Zvi said carefully, "I took the liberty of making certain assumptions about your ladyship's preferences in transportation capabilities. It can certainly be refitted to focus more on display and personal amenities, without losing the standard array of defensive options, if you prefer."

And when Zvi started breaking out titles, she was probably upsetting him. Jupiter watched the ship, back to being a deadly tulip, pass the side of the chariot. "Given how many people have been trying to shoot at me, maybe I should keep most of it. I just don't want to give people the impression that when I show up, I'm preparing to shoot _them_."

"Oh, please don't change a thing about it," Ursula said. "Did you see those cannons! Those ports! That shielding! The articulation points on the detachable small-crew tactical assault craft in the wings! You can't take apart a work of art like that, Queen Jupe, you just _can't_."

"She may do whatever she likes," Zvi said. "...and I was under the impression you were deployed in ground combat."

"I was," Ursula said, "but you _get_ to the ground via ships, aside from the big descent blasts at the end, and a girl picks up some appreciation for the basics along the way. Nothing worse than being stuck in a tin can getting shot at when you can't do a thing about it, and the can isn't doing enough shooting back. There was this one time--"

"Excuse me," Zvi said. "There's a call being forwarded from the Aegis ship."

Jupiter pulled herself up from the slouch the comfy throne had been lulling her into. "Caine? Is he coming back?"

"No," Zvi said. "From the keeper command on Earth. There's news about your family."


	15. Always Use The Buddy System

Ahe walked up to the bar and sat down like nothing had happened.

The bartender slid over to offer her a glass. "Same as usual?" That, said with a leading tone, as if she might suddenly break into a long sob story about the lycantant who chased her out of the room last time. Maybe it even worked on people who were sufficiently drunk, or lonely, or tired of keeping secrets.

Drunk wouldn't have been bad. Well, bad in the sense of _bad for Ahe who got shot while soused_ but not bad for as long as it lasted. She was stone cold sober and tired of it. "Same as usual," she said, and watched the entrance idly. Like she didn't have anything better to do.

The sargorn pack up on the higher level burst into laughter at something. They kept to themselves, and she didn't have any problem with people sticking to their own kind. Only made sense. She mostly associated with humans, given the choice. Commonality of source. Her daughter would've had some impressive words to put it into it and maybe an entire sheave written about the topic by now. Fancy Academic Title: My Mother's Failures Explained By Sociological Theory.

Something like that. Ahe took a sip of the drink, and tried not to feel like all the clusters and couples in the place were conspiring against her. How often was that going to be true? Not more than once in a given week, right?

And all she had to do was sit tight, not get too drunk, and wait for someone else to take care of the problem.

If she were any good at letting other people take care of problems, she'd have a lot fewer problems to start with. She sloshed another sip around in her mouth to get a little more enjoyment of what she was supposed to be drinking slowly.

"Not so busy tonight," the bartender said. "Not like some other nights."

"Sure isn't," Ahe said, and smiled flatly at the android until she was left alone again. The back of her neck itched where someone might or might not be watching her.

That lycantant had _better_ be watching her, like he promised.

#

Iones had turned over an enormous, overwrought conference room to Jupiter. "For the sake of your grace's privacy," she had said, and then booked it right out of there as if she was worried that some of the disaster might fall on her if she stuck around too long. Ursula stood watch at the door, for whatever good that did, while Zvi handled the communications...stuff. Technology.

Jupiter didn't know the details of how that worked, and at the moment, did not particularly care. What she cared about was the keeper doing a full-body prostration in front of her, via hologram from Earth, and the news it had.

"I asked you to do one thing," Jupiter said. "You had one job! Keep my family safe! What happened?"

"We were distracted by a blatant border-testing assault which diverted resources and attention while a smaller force slipped beneath our surveillance," said the keeper. "Our trackers assigned to the subject interrupted an attempted abduction, but lost track of the subject--"

"Stop calling her a 'subject'," Jupiter said. "She's my cousin. She's _fourteen_ , and she's not supposed to get caught up in any of this. Where is she now?"

The keeper's head tapped against the floor. It was a small gray creature in a baroque room of unnecessarily floating furniture and curlicues on the walls, and Jupiter would have felt sorry for it if she hadn't been so immensely angry.

"We don't know," it repeated. "We are pursuing all leads as urgently as possible without compromising the heightened security on the rest of the su--the rest of your family. We have also lost contact with two of our trackers, who might be in closer pursuit, or destroyed."

"This is..." Jupiter dropped into a floating chair the size of a throne, and stared at the keeper. She didn't even know its name. Hadn't thought to ask. Zvi would know, presumably, if she checked with him. "We need to find her."

"I take full responsibility," the keeper said. "I am at your mercy, your majesty. If you wish to have me executed, my second in command is fully prepared to take control of the Earth defense force."

"God, why would I do that?" Jupiter pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. It didn't help any. "I'm not going to solve all my problems by killing people. Let's make that a basic principle of my whole...queenliness thing. Minimize killing people to solve problems. Got it?" She took a deep breath, which helped slightly more with the adrenaline response in her blood that wasn't helping anything. There was no one in easy distance to bludgeon into letting her family go. That just didn't come up much. "What about the rest of my family? Do they know what's going on?"

"We memory-scrubbed anyone who had reason for concern," the keeper said, raising its head slightly, "and conveyed a cover story for your cousin's absence that can be extended for about twenty hours before new concerns arise."

"So all we have to do is get Mikka back before then," Jupiter said. "From...wherever she is." She looked over to Ursula, who gave a sympathetic kind of shrug. "I wish Caine was here."

#

Thirty stories up was barely getting started, in a modern city built for modern living. In this hodgepodge of tersie leftovers and modern attachments, thirty stories up put Caine at a great vantage point for what he wanted to watch. His portal in the floor was a silent window into the enormous room below, where he could watch the main entrance, and the human sitting at the bar.

It surprised him, sometimes, the way people didn't look _up_. But for all that humanity had spent millions of years in space, humans and their derivatives still loved gravity. Boots on the ground, as that new bear-splice Jupiter had picked up would put it. Build a spaceship, install artificial gravity to nail everyone to the floor, and then selectively float a chair here and a lamp there for the aesthetics of it. It was like those cruise ships Jupiter had told him about: a boat in a planetary ocean, with a swimming pool on the top deck. Ridiculous.

A skyjacker couldn't afford to get groundbound, no more than a drone operator or a shadow pilot. Stinger would've walked into that bar and checked not just the multi-level platforms, but the ceiling itself. Ceilings and floors and walls and all the space between. Skyjackers had to know where everything was located, whether they could see it or not; losing that sense of spatial tracking was a good way to get your wings clipped.

There were other ways to get your wings sliced off entirely. But that had nothing to do with his current job. Caine tucked his head lower, crouched there on the edge of the portal, and watched for the people he knew had to be coming.

#

Item one: Mikka's throat was sore, and her mouth was papery dry.

Item two: Her cheek was resting against a hard metal surface--was that redundant? It was probably redundant. She couldn't imagine a soft metal surface. But that was the order the adjectives were getting to her. Hard, check. Metal, check. Cold? Not very cold. Almost body temperature.

Item three: She was having trouble keeping her thoughts straight.

Item four: Ha. "Straight."

Item five: Getting back to item three, the problem was thinking in order. Probably she needed to try harder. Wasn't that what her dad said whenever she came home with C's? Try harder, Mikka. You have a social security number and a happy home and a family that understands discipline and the value of hard work. You could be anything you wanted, but you have to try harder.

Item five: That was supposed to be item six. She was having trouble counting, too.

Item whatever the number: She couldn't see anything, and wasn't sure where she was, and she was too dazed to be scared yet but Mikka was pretty sure she was supposed to be scared, any moment soon.

Item most important: Where was everyone else? She had been talking with Zachary, last she remembered, but she didn't remember it very well, and he wasn't there, no one was there with her, it was very quiet all around her and. Oh. There was the fear. Right on schedule.

#

Mercenaries would have blended into the crowd, if they wanted to play it subtle. These were not mercenaries. Three splices with a human in the lead, in sharp black and gray suits that sparkled with blue-chrome strips at the cuffs and ends of their capes. The clientele of the bar parted around them the way solid surfaces opened up under Caine's portals.

Mercenaries wore what they liked. Corporations and Entitled (and there was enough overlap between the two that they were practically the same thing, one a concept and one a person, in each instance) dressed their security in theme. It was a way of stamping their ownership on things. The big fashion statement of _this is mine_ , and then their employees sweeping around like extensions of those corporate selves. The longest arms in the world, with hands full of killers on the end.

It was likely, Caine decided, that he'd wear similar once he caught up with Jupiter again. She'd acquired someone who would tell her how all those things worked. He was--comfortable with that concept. Really. He'd done uniforms more often than not in his life, and a personal uniform for someone he liked wasn't so different from the Legion's uniforms that he was about to quibble over the way it made him a piece of that person. Her hand on another planet. Maybe her teeth in this case. Something to snap suddenly down on the people who thought she couldn't reach that far.

He crouched steadily at the edge of the portal. Watched the corporate advance. It wasn't an assassination: they did those more quietly. Even on a world like Zy'leki, it was bad form for people in your uniform to show up and shoot a person in the head without further preamble. That kind of thing led to bad PR. Fines. A tendency for leads to evaporate when sending out politer corporate employees in the future.

One of the splices smelled like another bee type. Maybe one of Stinger's million cousins, that, or maybe not. More than one person in the universe spliced bees, even if it wasn't popular. Hundreds of places did wolves, thousands if you counted dogs, too. A splice knew better than to start counting any of those people as family because of some shared genetic heritage. Pack mattered. Family was for humans. Or for splices like Stinger, who went out and paid all the wrong sorts of prices for an actual genetic daughter, with all the attendant failings.

Caine liked Kiza. But he couldn't think she was a good idea. Stinger should've known better.

Lots of things Stinger should've known better about, or he never would've lost his wings, right? Just imagine where the both of them would still be if they'd never made any stupid emotional decisions, explicable and inexplicable both.

Down below the corporate suits surrounded the drone operator. She knew they were coming before they pulled into her view: he could see it in how her shoulders tensed up, the way she stared directly at her glass even as the bartender scuttled away. She was counting on him.

He hadn't given her any choice about it. He couldn't afford to give those kinds of choices to people when he had a pack to protect and serve.

Not being a lone wolf made life more complicated than it used to be. Not...worse. Just. More complicated.

#

"It's the boots," Ahe said. She drained her glass. "Every other person in this Void-sucking hellhole has old wet boots and walks like they know where they're going, but don't want you to know. _You_ people come clicking in with these new, dry boots like you don't want to touch a floor this dirty, and you walk like you own the place."

She swiveled around on the barstool and looked up at the four of them. Two obvious splices, two that might be either way. Some splices could look entirely human if you didn't see their marks, and these four were all in high-collared uniforms. Snazzy capes. She'd never had a job that let her stalk around with a bit of sparkle in the back.

"So," she said. "What can I do for you bastards?"

"You can come with us quietly," said the one in front. Human. Probably human. Who could tell anymore? There used to be a day when the lines were bright and clear, her grandfather had told her, but that was ages ago and probably it cycled anyway. Everything did, except for the bastards at the top, who watched the pendulum and just smirked down at what got broken at each end of the swing.

"Yeah," Ahe said. She tapped her glass against the bar. "Sure. That's an option. Maybe we should go with that."

And that damn wolf dropped from the ceiling on the lot of them. Sweetest thing she'd seen in years.

#

Caine shot the bee splice. Right between the eyes, a nice straight blast one-handed while he was tangling with the human in the lead, who locked hands around one of his ankles and was doing her damnedest to keep him from getting a little altitude. The whole fight called for altitude. That's why he'd set Ahe up in the bar, with multiple stories of lift to fly through, and not outside with more space but these four checking the skyline for snipers, watchdogs, things they didn't expect inside.

Ahe yelled something. He had to keep an eye on her, because he _had_ promised, and that still counted for something, even if he didn't exactly need her anymore. Not when these four had taken the bait he set out. The bait didn't matter once the hook was in, but it turned out that he wasn't as good at ignoring costs measured in people as he used to be. Something about Jupiter rubbing off on him.

He kicked the human in the face with his free boot. Turned on the jets, and _that_ was enough to have her howl and drop away from the heat. Shield to his left side, bouncing off the shots of the two splices left. Lion on the right, with a tight-braided mane and yellow eyes, drawing a much heavier weapon from beneath that cape than the little handguns they all had on their hips. So that was how it was going to go.

Caine grinned at the three of them, all teeth, and snapped his wings open.

That was the thing about wings. Sure, boots you got far, but you had to control speed through the feet, direction through feet and body, a whole set of compromises for working with those tools. Get a pair of wings going, and suddenly you could throw all the maneuvering over to that third set of limbs, and have your hands and feet free for the fighting, body tucked in or spread as the shield needed.

He lost a feather to a blast that splattered through the holographic mirror and destroyed something unseen behind it. Smelled like burning plastic. Talk about an old-fashioned city. Caine dived down into the cluster, and swept the human out of the way with the shield itself, got six shots in with the fifth taking the lion-splice in the leg, and then nearly got clotheslined on the turn by the other splice (the brand named a company he knew, but it did sixteen different lines and he couldn't identify this one by scent with all the blood and smoke and ozone fry going on around him, not without pausing to think, and it wasn't that important) who flicked out a blue knife and it was a damn lucky thing he was still wearing a shirt with a high collar, because that knife made a fine attempt at cutting his throat.

He tucked himself and Ahe behind the shield, and shot back. The counter disintegrated to his left and his right; that was half a bartender, tumbled across the floor. You'd think a bot would know to run harder for cover. Most of the rest of the bar's population was doing just that. Even the types who loved violence didn't want any part of a chance at death they didn't have to engage with.

Ahe said something shocked and profane.

"Hit?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, quite calmly, and then there wasn't time for more conversation, because one of the three corporate assholes still living had come around the back to flank them, and the shield was tricky enough when he was only trying to protect himself, not a second person. The space was too confined. He should've picked a spot outside, except then they would've come in shadow fighters, and it was too late for second-guessing. This was why he liked having an officer to decide on the tactical situation, instead of having to run the whole operation on his own. There were _limits_ to improv when the shots starting firing.

Caine tucked an arm around her waist, and launched up at full speed. Shield tilted down to cover the retreat, and were they all groundbound? They _were_. The best thing that had happened to him all day.

"We can run," Ahe said. She collapsed on the floor where he'd dropped her, bleeding a very human red all across the cheap carpet of the cheap, damp motel room he'd been camping in. "I mean. Not so literally right now, but you can fly, and we can get out of here, before they get up here--"

"I need one," Caine said. "Sorry about this."

He dropped back down through the hole in the floor, teeth bared, and this time they were looking up. Smart corporate kids, those, who could learn from experience, but they weren't going to be smart enough, not against what he wanted and knew and had at hand.

Until one of them threw a darkness grenade, and everything went black.

#

A hand tapped at Mikka's shoulder. She flinched.

"Be very quiet," said a voice, a puff of breath across her ear almost too faint for her to make out the words. "Quiet as you can. Don't move."

Mikka lay still as hands did...something. A pinprick at her neck that stung just for an instant, then faded away. Tapping about her wrists, where she could barely feel anything at all, not hot or cold or anything that felt exactly like hands, just pressure. She kept her teeth pressed tight together against the wanting to yell.

It was like one of those nightmares where she tried to shout for help, and no one could hear her, except it wasn't a nightmare at all. It was real.

Her vision went gray, and then clear. A _dark_ sort of clear, but she could see again. She was lying in some kind of small room surrounded by boxes and poles and metal walls. The back of a van? Or maybe an eighteen-wheeler, by the size of the place, if it was subdivided... Mikka propped herself up on an elbow, and shook her head. Immediately regretted it. The room, whatever it was, swam around her.

"Don't move," Emily whispered, and Mikka tried to jerk away. Emily wrapped arms around her, and held her still. "Please! If you stand up the motion alarms will catch it."

"You kidnapped me," Mikka snapped. But quietly. Quietly still seemed good.

"No," Emily said, "I'm trying to rescue you from the people who are kidnapping you. Because if I don't get you out of here before they dock, I won't be able to at all."

"Dock?" It didn't feel like a boat. No sway. But Mikka hadn't been on many boats, and maybe on the big ones it didn't feel like anything, deep inside. It would explain why the room looked so odd and mechanical. "What happens if we dock?"

"Probably they'll find me and kill me," Emily said. She smiled brightly. "But you they'll keep alive! So don't freak out."

"I'm freaking out," Mikka said. "I am really freaking out."

"Freak out quietly." Emily tucked something into a pocket, faster than Mikka could catch what it was. "And stay low. This...isn't really what I'm trained for, but I'm going to look for a lifepod. If I find one, I'll come back and lead you to it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I work for your cousin Jupiter," Emily said. Still with that bright smile, like they were in study hall, and not crouched side by side on a metal floor in some kind of cargo ship going--somewhere. Somewhere bad. "I'm supposed to watch out for you."

"She really did marry into the Russian mafia, didn't she?"

Emily hesitated. "...sure," she said at last. "Good analogy. Let's call it that. Now stay down, and stay quiet. I'll be right back." She scuttled away into the darkness, on her hands and feet, a weird sort of crawling motion that just didn't look right.

Mikka lay back down, and pretended to be unconscious. But with her eyes open, watching for where Emily had gone.

#

Caine put a shot through someone. He knew because he could smell the char and blood response the instant after he fired. The blood scent said _human_ and he couldn't tell if it was the corporate woman he'd aimed for, or another bar patron. Not Ahe, who was stowed for five minutes of safety upstairs.

He really had wanted to take one of these people alive. But searching the bodies for clues might get him a good distance too.

Teeth dug into his bicep, where maybe the body armor in the jacket would have been a nice barrier right then. He snapped a wing that direction, and kicked up from the floor. Skewed sideways in the tangle of bodies. More people in the bar were shouting now, and someone out there was trying to impose local security on the fracas. Good luck with _that_ , if they didn't have the anti-dark augments every person in the corporate group must've come with, judging by the darkness tactic. No one threw one of those grenades around without being sure their own side could see through it.

He snapped an assailant's arm. Stepped on something soft that made his boots skid and sear what lay beneath. The loss of his shield's blue glow didn't mean much compared to the wild breath of the three people left to tangle with in the darkness. _That_ was what he tracked on, not sight and shine alone.

Caine took one of them down, pulled one of them up a few levels to bounce off a series of tables and structural supports, and when the darkness faded, he had three dead people in suits, and one vanished entirely.

He let security throw him out of the bar. They weren't nearly as important as what he'd found on those uniforms.

#

"But Caine's not here," Jupiter said, because no one had any response for her. "So I need to send someone else."

Ursula waved a hand. "Not it." She shrugged off the glare from Zvi. "Let's all be honest, here. You give me someone to shoot, I'm your splice! The enemy's straight ahead, or just over that hill, I'll go charging. But you need to find someone lost in the universe, and they didn't build me for direction sense, much less tracking. I can't shoot my way to find your cousin, Queen Jupe, not unless..." She stopped, and looked thoughtful. "Maybe if I shot the right people. Or enough of them."

Zvi cleared his throat delicately. "Ms. Opeatrix has a point. She is not an ideal candidate for this mission."

"And it's not like I can just get a copy of Caine," Jupiter said glumly.

"Well, allowing for six months of fast-growth after the sample immersion, plus Mr. Wise's presence for a few days of memory transfer..." Zvi trailed off at her expression. "In any case, that sort of clone-copy process is highly illegal in several jurisdictions, though in others it only carries a stiff fine. And impractical for the difficulty at hand."

"I...what..." Jupiter took another one of those helpful deep breaths. "We're not shooting or cloning our way to finding my cousin. Unless it's absolutely necessary, which it probably isn't. Zvi, can you find me someone who can find my cousin? However much it costs. Protection of the Earth, protection of my family, then keeping me alive to watch out for them. Those are the things we really care about spending my money on right now. In that order. First one seems to be okay, so let's get the second one done."

"Purchasing employee contracts would give you more reliable trackers," Zvi said, "but this would take significantly more time than hiring mercenaries."

"Then we start with the fast fix," Jupiter said, "while we work on the long fix. Maybe I do need more than one specialist in retrieving kidnapped people around here. Look at the rate we're going at. And--find me some sort of investigator. And another lawyer. I want to figure out who's working against me, and then I'm going to make them pay."

"The kind of pay where we shoot them?" Ursula asked.

"Probably not, but let's see how I feel when we get there."


	16. Twelve Thousand Meters Under The Sea

The system had a numerical designation, but the planet had a name. Itsaso was a Class 2 Primary world that could have supported a harvestable population of sixteen billion, given suitable technological advancements in the usual tersie line; a tenth of that in leisurely comfort at Commonwealth-standard tech levels; a hundred times that, at Orous-level density and infrastructure, not counting any orbiting belts. Its surface was ninety percent water, most of that shallow, all of it speckled with countless islands that merged and divided with the tides, or rose and lowered as curated volcanic activity adjusted the details. The planet glowed a vivid blue beneath the oxygen-heavy atmosphere, with hints of green peaking out through the usual cloud cover.

When the Aegis ship dived through its atmosphere, Itsaso held two thousand beings officially recognized as sentient with potential for citizenship by Commonwealth standards. Six hundred of them lived and worked in the palace below.

From a distance, the palace was a spot of pale green. Then a green circle with a white center, in the midst of the ocean. The white center spread open like the petals of a marsh lily, each petal a glossy reception zone for a ship, and the green circle was made entirely of thick floating leaves that matted around the sides of the artificial flower.

The Aegis ship hovered over one petal, and turned on its descent beam.

Every other petal was empty. The palace's top waited alone in the ocean, silent but for the water lapping against its sides.

#

Captain Tsing had been very formal at the end, which wasn't what Jupiter wanted, but maybe that was how it had to go. There were formulas for people dealing with the Entitled, just as the Entitled had an entire rulebook for dealing with each other, and it was too late to pretend she was anything otherwise.

But when Jupiter was standing on that smooth white surface, trying to figure out where the rest of the supposed vacation house was hiding, Zvi said quietly at her side, "The captain left a list for you."

"What kind of list?" Jupiter asked. She shaded her eyes with a hand, and looked up to watch the ship pull away. A smooth tilt and retreat, with a wash of warm air from its engines, and that was it. Nothing like the roar of an airplane. Its shape dwindled away against the sky, disintegrated a cloud on the way through, and disappeared entirely from sight.

"Divisions within Aegis and the Legion you would be better served to rely on than others."

Jupiter lowered her hand. "Is there anywhere in the universe where things aren't this twisty and full of devious people?"

"If people on your side aren't trying to backstab you now and again," Ursula said, "it's not politics. Hey, look, the welcoming committee!"

The center of the flower opened up into a blue lift beam, and emitted a half dozen people in gold-edged gray robes. The woman at the front wore a gold-embroidered jacket on top, and tumbled gracefully into a full face-down prostration at Jupiter's feet. "My deepest apologies, your grace," she said. "I have no excuse for the delay."

"Um," Jupiter said. "Please get up. It's really okay. We were admiring the view." There wasn't much to the view but ocean, but the flower landing platforms were rather pretty.

The woman sprang as easily to her feet as she'd gone down. Maybe it was a commonly practiced move. "I am Housekeeper Ysobel," she said, and Jupiter realized the woman was another android. One with more subtle seams than Bob or those lawyers, and built in a more human-natural skin tone, but as smoothly perfect in composition as any of the other artificial people. "We have been maintaining your vacation residence since your death, and we are all overjoyed at your return."

"We're not here for very long," Jupiter said. Not with a cousin to rescue, assassins to track down, Bob to repair, Titus to prosecute, and--her to-do list was getting ridiculous. Good thing Zvi was keeping track of the details. "Though--" Wait. That was a useful thought, for once. "--Mr. Darby will be handling the details for our stay," she finished, in better cheer than before. "There's security incoming, and that kind of thing."

Ysobel inclined her head to Zvi, who responded with a nod that wasn't quite as deep. It was like watching two new dogs sniff each other, and decide whose ears would fold down the furthest.

"We are overjoyed at your presence for any duration," Ysobel said, and put on a smile as exact as Bob's ever was. "Please allow me to direct you to the blue suite."

"What happened to the primary suite?" Zvi asked.

Ysobel's smile wavered. "When Lord Balem last visited, there were...structural inefficiencies discovered, which we have since endeavored to correct. If her majesty cares to direct funds towards this purpose, the refurbishment will be completed shortly."

"Did Balem put a hole in the walls?" Jupiter asked. One of the servants standing behind Ysobel started to nod, then caught himself and kept quite still. "I thought the keepers had those quick-repair things. Tech. They put the entire Chicago skyline back together in half an hour."

"Patchers? Those aren't going to work on fancy walls like this place has," Ursula said. "Low-tech stuff, sure, but not anything here! Hey, which one of you wants to carry the luggage?" She hefted the case they'd brought down from Captain Tsing's ship. "No, not you, it'll squash you. Here." She handed the case to the second servant who approached; he staggered under the weight. "Gotta keep my hands free."

"We have maintained excellent security on this facility," said Ysobel, pointedly not looking at Ursula.

"Except for the relatives who come smash things up." Ursula made a gesture towards Jupiter, like a nudge with an elbow had just been curtailed into a more respectful lack of contact. "No offense, but I wouldn't walk first into any rooms your kids stepped in lately. Just saying."

"The blue suite will suffice," Zvi said, "while Ms. Opeatrix begins the security review of all rooms that have been damaged recently, or housed visitors since her majesty's first death." He tilted his head slightly towards Jupiter.

"Yes, we'll do that," Jupiter said, and reflected on the fact that even her servants had politics. Well. Of course they would. It wasn't like she and her family had ever been the silently supportive workers, of one mind, that their employers might've liked.

Additional servant politics stayed out of the conversation, because no one other than Ysobel seemed willing to speak up. The luggage was handled, a pearly white disc arrived in the beam--which meant Jupiter could stop worrying about anyone staring up her moderately formal dress on the float down--and it was finally time to look over her vacation house. Palace. Whatever.

The disc sank down through the center of the landing pad flower, and the palace opened up around them.

For what felt like five stories of slow descent, there was nothing to be seen but water. A column of air, a little wider than the beam itself, was protected from the ocean by that slight blue shimmer that spaceship bays had at their entrances. Half a story of trailing roots from the greenery floating around the landing pad petals, and then nothing but milky water. Plankton, Jupiter decided. It couldn't be sterile, with all those plants, but it wasn't exactly a koi pond out there. Just an alien planet with very little in the way of higher-order species. Say, one of those eras of Earth's evolutionary development where nothing had a backbone yet. Paleozoic? Or did vertebrae show up during that one? Bio class was years ago, and she'd never gone into the AP class with astronomy right there in the same time slot on the high school schedule.

A dividing line slipped past on the cylinder, and the palace appeared below them.

It _was_ a palace. Vacation resorts had nothing on the acres of buildings and grounds spread out beneath them. Domes and spires nestled together in the midst of impossibly tall trees, like someone had tried to shove mosques into elven cities from Vladie's favorite movies, and then dropped them into a manicured...rainforest? Whatever kind of place grew trees thirty stories high, with no branches until they spread out weeping willow strands from their delicate umbrella-spined tops. Arches curved over glowing red streams. Footbridges, linking one building to another.

Jupiter blinked. Again, as the lift continued to descend. "Is that lava?"

"Yes," Zvi said, so promptly he might've been waiting for her to ask about Interesting Palace Facts or something like that. He was exactly the sort of person to have some handy.

She turned around slowly, conscious of the way her dress trailed around her as she moved. (Next item on the agenda, once they were in the blue suite: changing into something with pants.) The walls to this bubble of world were made of water. Dark shapes moved out in...the deep ocean? The private aquarium of Seraphi Abrasax, who could afford to build a place like this for a vacation home?

"I have an underwater volcanic lair," Jupiter said.

"...yes?" Zvi said.

"In, uh, intergalactic culture, are those sorts of things usually associated with supervillains?"

Zvi paused for a moment, visibly searching for a response. "The association is usually with the Entitled," he said at last.

"So, yes."

Zvi looked pained, though he covered up the expression quickly. "It's not an inappropriate description of certain Entitled individuals," he said.

Ursula coughed into her fist. " _Most._ "

" _Certain_ individuals."

"Hey, if you go through any of the usual entertainment sheaves that aren't all military theme--"

"Entertainment media are no true representation of reality," Zvi said primly. "If they were plausible, they wouldn't be entertaining."

"...okay, yeah," Ursula said, "but come on, no one goes on vacation in an underwater volcano lair! People run desperate assaults on them, with explosions everywhere, and then the barrier starts collapsing and you have to escape while the water is crashing in everywhere, the buildings are toppling, the escape pods are shooting away, and you finally grapple with the villain right over the heart of the volcano--"

"Are you describing something you've done," Zvi asked, "or the plot of one of those sheaves?"

"...it was actually a game," Ursula said, "but still!" She waved a hand towards the top of a tree as the disc sank past it. "Tell me you haven't played that one!"

"I only play educational games."

"Explains a lot, kid."

"Oh, look," Jupiter said, before anyone on her staff threw a punch, or Ysobel demonstrated whether or not a robot could burst into horrified tears, "there's a welcoming committee. That's nice."

"The full public-facing staff," Ysobel said quickly. "Awaiting your majesty's review."

The disc sank down into the glossy floor of a plaza, and melded with it without any seams. The endless pearly white was going to get old fast, Jupiter decided. A hundred people--splices, androids, humans, some she couldn't place as any of the above and were maybe weirder splices, or outright aliens--dropped in unison to their knees, as she stepped off the platform. At the far side of the plaza, an enormous statue held a hovering planet in its cupped hands.

It was a statue of her. Of course. Or of Seraphi, whose children apparently got their taste for giant representations of themselves from her. Queen Seraphi looked elegant and confident and regal, all the things Jupiter didn't feel while standing there in a fancy dress in front of a hundred servants she'd never met before. It was going to take forever to learn everyone's name and job, and--probably she'd never have time. She had a cousin to locate, assassins to track down, a boyfriend to reunite with, a spaceship under production, Bob to repair. Her entire family to reunite with once all of that was done, and to explain the Vegas wedding to. When was she going to get a chance to sit around and talk to the people who kept her vacation palace running in her absence?

Did they even _want_ to talk to her? Sometimes it was a lot easier to get the house clean when no one was home.

"The blue suite is this way," Ysobel murmured, dipping her head and extending a perfectly graceful arm towards one of those bridge-arches.

Jupiter smiled at the ranks of servants with their bowed heads. Then followed the housekeeper along.

#

It was a nightmare. One of those nightmares Zvi had every so often where he'd been assigned a perfectly normal responsibility and then discovered at the last minute that he'd forgotten all the prerequisites. The kitchen staff was in meltdown over dinner plans because the Earth keepers, distracted by the kidnapping issue, had never sent them the promised local recipes, which meant the supplies staff hadn't procured any ingredients--and didn't know what ingredients to procure, so maybe that was just a sign of good sense, but they hadn't procured anything at all, which meant there was nothing in stock except for what the staff used for their own supplies, and then a quarter of the staff was either in cryo-sleep or bot harnesses for long-term storage, whoever was supposed to have woken them up hadn't scheduled it properly, and someone had put the storage facilitation specialist _into_ storage, so that was a mess even before getting into the issue of damaged rooms, missing equipment, missing _staff_ , and a tree system that was a century overdue for its rehabilitation schedule. An entire guest tower had been lost to the implanted environment and no one was quite sure which clump of roots it was hiding in. One of the lava containment fields was dangerously near meltdown. And the phoenixes...were a problem.

Zvi stood at the top of a lovely marble-alloy bridge, watching the fiery birds dive into the lava, and then paddle back out with lava worms clutched in their beaks. "They're not even supposed to be here."

"It was the lava worms," said the gardener, a placid goat-splice with curling horns and a tendency to chew his cud whenever he wasn't actively speaking. "They were chewing away at the containment fields."

"So the housekeeper imported phoenixes."

"Right," said the gardener. He had a few thoughtful chews. "But the phoenixes are getting out of control. They just keep breeding. We paid extra for ones that could, so they wouldn't run out, eh? Self-replacing. Except the environment's so contained, they've got no predators, so they're roosting everywhere. They make these nests of coals. Good thing the fire response system's so good. Repair bots have been getting a real workout, fixing all those scorch marks."

"Why do we even _have_ lava worms?" Zvi asked. He didn't really want to know the answer. It wasn't going to make him any happier.

"They keep the lava flowing and from congealing around the tree roots. Aeration, or something. Can't say as I rightfully understand it. Previous gardener put them in because of the tree problem."

"So you added lava worms to help the trees," Zvi said, "and phoenixes to deal with the lava worms, and--now we need to deal with the phoenixes."

"Few coatls would clear 'em right up."

Zvi looked up the reference. "Giant, feathered, flying snakes?"

"Yup. They eat phoenixes. Natural predators. Her majesty, may she rest in silence, beloved be the name of her recurrence, always did like to keep things natural."

"What happens if you have too many coatls?" Zvi asked.

"No problem at all," the gardener assured him. "They don't attack people unless they can't find enough phoenixes to eat. And if it comes to that, we just order a mob-crawler for the lava, to deal with the extra coatls."

Zvi looked up what a mob-crawler, lava version, was, and promptly regretted it.

The gardener ground his teeth together a few times. "So. You gonna get the coatl order form signed, eh?"

"I'll get back to you on that," Zvi said.

#

The blue suite was elegant and sleek and Jupiter hated it. She left her luggage there, under the guard of a dreamy household AI and an anxious mouse-faced splice, and went to walk through the estate with Ursula trailing behind her. _After_ changing back into more casual clothing, thanks, because no matter what Ysobel said about the lava containment fields, she didn't want to drag the trail of her dress across a lava stream and burst into flames. What a way to go.

Every building she reached opened in front of her. Dining rooms and reception rooms and rooms she couldn't identify any purpose for, equipped with furniture and decorations--sometimes she couldn't tell the two apart--but no explanations. The AI probably would've answered her questions. She didn't ask. There were times to ask questions, and times to make decisions, and it felt like the force of events were tilting her towards the second kind. Of course, making decisions without information was a bad idea, but the universe was huge and full of details. She couldn't just keep asking questions until she had all the information. It would never _end_.

She ran out of steam about nine buildings into the power-walk. No lie, the boots were amazingly comfortable, and bras of the future did wonders, but all those up-and-down bridges added up fast on the calves when she took them at something other than the sedate stroll Kalique preferred. No wonder the Entitled she'd met were always taking chariots places; if they insisted on building estates of this size, they pretty much needed space segways to get anywhere in their own houses. Besides, the ninth building was centered around the trunk of one of the enormous willow-topped trees, with a fountain--of water, not lava--spurting endlessly from its sides in a dozen streams down into a vast pool of translucent fish.

A bird made of fire swooped through, made one attempt at the fish, and then swooped away with an indignant squawk when the water blackened its beak. Jupiter sat down on a bench that had actual legs, no floating involved, and stared into the pool.

"Something wrong?" Ursula asked, after a minute or so of waiting. The garden room was quiet, aside from water splashing on water. The streams of water were very pretty, and also made the tree look like it was constantly bleeding clear sap into the pool.

"Not really," Jupiter said. She leaned back on her hands, looking up at the trunk of the tree. The top of it was invisible with the way the ceiling closed in, even with the giant hole in the dome for the trunk to run through. "Do all houses do this kind of thing? The whole...nature theme?"

"Planetary ones," Ursula said. "I guess? Didn't go to a lot of alcazars during my work." She scratched her chin thoughtfully with the side of one of her weapons. "Shot a few up. It's hard to see theme by the time we got through that."

"But it's all planetary stuff. Nothing themed on...stars. Planets. Looking up and out."

"Sure. Why put stars on things? You can go look at them any time. Plants, now, that's fancy. Rich people stuff."

Jupiter laid off examining that tree, and put her hands on her knees. "Rich people can get all sorts of things."

Ursula nodded. It was a fact of life. Of course they could. No one really questioned that. Definitions of things.

"If my father had lived to see this," Jupiter said, and found she couldn't finish the sentence. Ursula, who had all the tact of an actual bear, stared hopefully at her, waiting for the rest. Until Jupiter finally gave in and said, "I was thinking, never mind getting him a telescope again, I could have built him an observatory."

"What does it observe?" Ursula asked.

"The stars," Jupiter said.

Ursula looked up at the ceiling. "But they're right there. You can just go there."

"An observatory lets you look at them up close. So that you can see them better. He could have--" Her breath caught. "I could have showed him the stars, up close. I could have _taken_ him to a star that no one from our planet had ever visited before."

"Were you close to your father?" Ursula asked tentatively.

"He died before I was born. My mother doesn't talk about him much." Jupiter put on a smile, because if she kept going in that vein she was liable to burst into tears, which wasn't appropriate to leaders in general or royalty in particular. "What about you? Were you close to your father?"

"Oh, well, fathers," Ursula said, with an airy wave of a clawed hand. "Not a lot of those for splices! I came from a nice creche, along with my little brother. Bear splices do pairs, the way wolf splices do litters, and he and I, we had good times. I used to put him in headlocks and make him say his times tables before I let him eat breakfast. It's good for a kid. Teaches him to think fast first thing in the morning."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Jupiter said. She did not, now that she thought about it, know if Caine had any relatives he considered...well, relevant. Only that he'd been sold away from them, and figured out how to live alone when he wasn't supposed to ever be alone.

"Had," Ursula said, without any hurt at it. "He bit it in a nasty turf war about, oh, three years back? And I heard about it, off in my unit, knee-deep in mud and worse, and I thought to myself, Ursula, is that how you want to go out? In uniform? It's not a bad way to go. Born to it, die in it, a solid life all the way through. But I said, Ursula, you've never done the civilian thing. You already paid off your contract. Why not see how a civilian life agrees with you? Travel to places where no one's trying to kill you, and vice versa. Wear some things that aren't armored. Get up late once in a while."

"Doing anything you wanted," Jupiter said, and tried to keep the note of wistfulness out of her voice. She could, in fact, do anything she wanted, beyond her previous wild dreams. So long as she was willing to deal with the consequences, which made _anything_ shrink rapidly into a series of far more constrained options.

"Didn't like it," Ursula said. "In the Legion, there's no tax paperwork and tax refunds and bad investments and paying the rent. The number-counters handle all that, and it's none of my business! It's better that way. I wasn't spliced so I could file a stack of sheaves accounting for every cred I spent and try to work out the whores exemptions."

"Are they exempted or--" Jupiter stopped. "Actually. There are some things I just don't want to know."

"Yeah," Ursula said, "I feel that way a lot."

#

By dinner time, nothing was on fire that wasn't supposed to be on fire. (The basement of the auxiliary buzzball court aside, and at least that was contained.) Zvi decided that was as close as anything would get to being under control in the time allowed, and made sure to dress properly for the dining room Ysobel had chosen as most appropriate to her mistress's welcome home dinner.

He would've preferred the dragonfly dining room. It had a better view, and more convenient access to the executive suite. But he was trying not to micromanage; there'd been a two-week instructional series on that, during his last year of education.

His queen picked at her food. She looked perfectly regal, and distinctly military, having returned to the new outfit with the closest resemblance to that Aegis uniform. The rows of newly arrived guards standing at each doorway added to the overall impression of an Entitled on war footing. "So," she said.

Zvi dipped his head her way.

"Sit down?" She grimaced, and waved a hand at the table. "This is just weird. Eating alone, while everyone else stands. Do these guards even eat?" She stabbed a fork into something. (At least he'd been able to double-check the culturally appropriate utensils before the meal was served, and have a few good ones fabbed up.) "And now I'm talking about people in the third person while they're standing right there."

Zvi sat across from her. A servant whisked in between the guards, and set a plate in front of him. To give appropriate compliments where they were due, Ysobel had kept up some standards.

"The guards derive their power from their recharge harnesses, which they occupy in shifts," he said. "Once you've had a chance to review the details for some more specialized splice-based units and we have those in place, you may wish to send some of the honor guard into short-term storage, to act as replacements when others need repairs. Or to be deployed in critical situations."

"Do they mind if we talk about them in front of them?"

His queen asked questions like that, ones that made him pause and think when he ought to have every answer sitting ready on his lips. The sorts of questions he still didn't expect her to ask. "They aren't equipped with personal reactions of that sort," he said. "They don't have...feelings, as it were, except satisfaction at doing their jobs well."

"Are they machines, or are they people?"

Another one of those questions. "They can't become citizens of the Commonwealth," he settled on.

"That's just law. There have been laws about who's a real person or not that weren't based on who--" She stopped, and took an angry sort of bite. "I should've paid more attention in my history classes. Or in the civics class. How am I supposed to figure out any of these things if people just keep reassuring me that I can do whatever I want?"

The tines of her fork scraped across the plate, while Zvi tried to work that out.

"I'm sorry," she said, before he'd come up with an answer. "It's not fair to ask you. I wish Caine were here."

And that hurt, but it was perfectly reasonable. She ought to confide in whomever she preferred. He smiled slightly, like the professional he'd been trained to become, and said, "We all do. I know Ms. Opeatrix wants to discuss security arrangements with him, and I would be happier having his informed opinion on some of these upcoming hires. No one knows lycantants like another one."

"Makes sense. And--okay, security later, important things now." She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Who do you think kidnapped my cousin? Your best idea so far."

For once, she asked a question he had a ready answer for. "Kalique, Titus, or House Goramesh."

She sat back. "House what?"

"The House of Goramesh is your primary competitor in the production of high-end Regenex and its derivatives," Zvi said. "I can have a sheave with the details prepared for you, if you'd like."

"No one mentioned them when it was about people shooting at me."

"They have no reason to want you dead." Zvi remembered that he was supposed to be having dinner with her, not only sitting nearby, and had a sip of whatever the kitchen had decided to put in the cups. A sweet pink wine, as it turned out, that sparkled on the tongue and hadn't enough of a kick to impair his judgment if he drank a liter of it. "Under circumstances as they stand, Kalique would hold your estate in trust for your family, who would be unlikely to contest the matter, once she delivered her version of the situation to them. Your continued presence as Queen and reigning monarch of House Abrasax is more likely to destabilize the harvest and production process than make the House a more dangerous competitor."

"Because I don't like liquifying people, or because I don't have an MBA?" She snorted. "Don't answer that. So if they want me stay where I am, why would they kidnap my cousin?"

"To gain leverage over you, and further destabilize the situation. But I do think one of your relatives are more likely to have acted in this manner."

"I wouldn't put it past Titus," Jupiter said. "I wouldn't put _anything_ past him, and if I have to hunt him down and file a grievance in person against his _face_ , that's exactly--"

She sprang out of her chair. Zvi turned around, and rose to his feet as quickly as he could. "Mr. Wise," he said, and executed an appropriate bow, while his queen ran to fling herself at the lycantant standing in the doorway, just behind the line of guards. "What a pleasure to see you back safe."

He sent a message to Ysobel asking for a full report on how the man had walked right through building security without _anyone telling him about it_ , and maintained a perfectly welcoming expression.

Mr. Wise gave him a narrow look. But that was all, because naturally the man would want to pay the most attention to Jupiter.

"I passed Captain Tsing's ship," Caine said, "and dropped off a witness with her for safe-keeping. Whoever was faking assassination attempts on you wasn't faking it with her. That team was ready to kill her just to cover up the lead."

"Do we have a who?" Jupiter stood back, her hands on Caine's shoulders. "Anything to work with?"

"The team was from one of Lord Balem's holdings," Caine said. "The uniforms, the tech, even the scent, all lead back there."

"But he's _dead_ ," Jupiter said. "Who's in control of that stuff right now?"

"Legally speaking," Zvi said, "it's an open question, as part of the contested assets distributed by his will. In practice, that would depend on who has the authorization codes or personal contacts to deploy a team like that. A close examination of the records should get us a suitable answer."

"Time for another round of bureaucracy," Caine said.

"We _have_ someone for that." Jupiter glanced up at the ceiling, as if she could see the shipyards through it. "We just need to get him repaired."


	17. "Wheat"

Mikka took several deep breaths after everything had stopped moving. "Was crashing the _plan_?"

Emily touched bits of the sparkly web overlaying her, and it slithered off her. Creepy. "It was one of the plans," she said, in that disgustingly perky voice. "Here, let me help you."

"I've got it." Mikka wiggled her arms beneath her own web, and finally got a hand free to slap at the world's strangest seatbelt system until it let her go. Not that there was anywhere to go after that, because the escape pod Emily had gotten them into was only big enough for the two of them, and closed up without any door she could see. If the two of them were trapped in there forever, knee to knee, someone was going to pay. "What is this stuff?"

"Restraint system to compensate for failing inertial dampeners during an unusually severe--" Emily stopped short, and put back on her usual happy expression. "It's a space seatbelt!"

"I'm not _five_ ," Mikka said. "You can call things by their real names." She slid out of the seat onto the floor, and squinted up at the roof. Or maybe it was the other way around? Everything had spun so much during the pod's escape from that _apparently a spaceship_ , okay, things she wasn't thinking about clearly yet, but the spinning in a round little room meant that floor and ceiling were pretty arbitrary. At least there was a sort of tug in the down direction again. Gravity. Maybe not as much gravity as she was used to, but definitely not floating wildly in space. That was a step forward. "Where are we?"

Emily hesitated. "The nearest gravity source sufficiently large to capture the emergency jump's signaling process, allowing for standard avoidance of stars, wormholes, and other Class 17 problematic landing locations."

"...space landing pad?"

"Space landing pad."

"Whatever," Mikka said. "Are we trapped here until the kidnappers show up, or the...space cops, or what?"

"We need to look for an FTL station." Emily didn't even try to explain that one. It was probably for the best. "If those bounty hunters catch up with us before we can find a reliable Aegis or Legion respondent, or better yet, get in touch with your cousin, it'll go poorly for us." She pressed an odd metal case into Mikka's hands. "Put this on. Wherever we've landed, we can't breathe what's outside."

"Bounty hunters chase criminals," Mikka said. "What did you do?"

"Space bounty hunters chase people they'll be paid to retrieve or kill," Emily said brightly. She tapped the case. "So let's not get caught!"

Whatever Mikka could've said to that was interrupted by something the size of a good makeup case attacking her. Or dressing her, which was even weirder. It exploded out into clinging fabric all up and down her arms, snapping a helmet over her head, more than could ever have fit in that kind of space, and locked right in. There was a faceplate, even.

"This might look a little strange," Emily said.

" _Strange_."

Emily smiled, and put one of the case-suits on herself. And it was...strange. Because it didn't exactly cover her properly. It slipped on the same way, weird bumpy fabric all over the other girl, but it stretched and changed her shape until she was all wrong. Arms and legs too skinny and too long, attached not quite right, everything the wrong size. Only Emily's face inside the helmet still looked right.

"It doesn't play well with holograms," Emily said. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"What did it _do_ to you?" Mikka demanded. And didn't get an answer. But she still followed Emily out of the escape pod.

It turned out that the space landing pad was in space.

Overhead, stars stood out like sharp white dots. No glitter. No sun or planets that direction. Mikka caught her breath, inside the spacesuit, and then had to breathe deliberately. In and out. The air tasted like nothing at all inside the suit. It was perfectly safe. As safe as anything could get in a day with that much weirdness.

She finally dared to look down from the sky. The ground was made of metal, marked up in a complicated pattern like lace or paisley. Nothing like ordinary tile or mesh or--anything normal that made up floors. "Where are we?" Her own voice even sounded normal, and she wasn't sure how Emily could hear it.

"Um," Emily said. "I'm not sure. Some sort of shipyard, maybe."

Mikka kicked a foot against the metal ground. Even her shoes were covered by the spacesuit fabric. "That's what I like hearing. We're lost in space."

"We're not lost! We're fine. We're right on target. We'll be back in time for that One Direction concert."

"I don't even _like_ One Direction." Mikka pointed a space-suited finger at Emily. "You keep acting like I'm some sort of...like I'm someone you don't even _know_ , exactly like everyone else my age, even though you've been tagging around in my class for weeks! You've been there ever since--" She hiccuped to a stop. "You've been there since Jupiter disappeared. Oh my god, you're with, like, the space mafia. She really did marry someone in the mob. And that's why you're spying on me!"

"I'm _protecting_ you," Emily said. She put one of her hands, all weird long fingers inside the spacesuit, over her helmet's face plate. "I mean... I'm supposed to be protecting you. I'm doing my best! This was my first real assignment! Everyone said that her mother would be the first line of attack. You were supposed to be a tertiary target!"

"I'm not tertiary!" Mikka stopped. "Wow, that sounded dumb when I said it out loud. Fine. You're protecting me. So you figure out how to get me home, and...and tell me what's going on. Really."

"If I tell you what's going on, will you stick close and run if I tell you to?"

"Yeah," Mikka said, "sure," and didn't even bother crossing her fingers behind her back. "So give. Why am I in _space_ , and what does this have to do with Jupiter? She likes astronomy, sure, but I like horses and that doesn't mean I suddenly live on a ranch."

"I didn't know you liked horses."

"That's not the point!"

"Oh, look," Emily said, waving one of her suit-stretched arms, "I think there's a signal that way."

They trudged across the metal ground in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. The gravity felt odd: not strong enough, like it would be easy to jump too hard and just spin off into space. Mikka kept her steps small and stuck close to Emily, who was infuriating, but at least seemed to know what was going on. Some of what was going on.

"So what happened," Emily said, her voice not quite sounding like the right distance through whatever sort of radios these spacesuits had, "was that your cousin Jupiter met this...man, called Caine. Caine Wise. And he introduced her to a bunch of her...space relatives."

"Space relatives."

"...yes. Space relatives! And it turns out that she's in for a big inheritance. So she's been dealing with that, in space, and asked the rest of us to watch her family back on Earth in case anyone tried to hurt them on account of her, uh, legal difficulties with the inheritance. While she married that man. So that he could help her with...legal difficulties."

"I can't tell if you're bad at explaining things," Mikka said, "or a bad liar." But then she got to the edge of the metal surface, and shut up.

Gravity wanted to pull her right over the edge, to walk on the other side. But more important, she could finally see past that huge engraved floor to what their pod had locked into. Space was full of _spaceships_. Vast and tiny and broken into pieces, all strange shapes and glitter floating in the air--the lack of air, actually--in front of her. Lights flashed at the edges of most, little floating buoys tethered to ship pieces, and enormous cranes with laser tips slowly sliced one of the ships apart. Piece by piece to smaller pieces.

"Oh, good!" Emily said. "It's a junkyard. They're sure to have an FTL station. We just need to find the operator."

Mikka stepped over the edge of the floor, which was actually the side of a spaceship, and ignored the drop in her stomach. However it worked, her feet were still sticking to the dead ship's surface. "So how did you get involved in all this? As a guard, seeing as you didn't do a very good job of bodyguarding."

"I didn't," Emily said, her shoulders drooping. "I'll be demoted for sure when I get back, if I'm not exe--exited. From service. Yes. Definitely demoted or fired. But I'm a keeper. It's my job to watch out for your planet."

"What, the whole Earth? Watch out for what? Meteorites?"

"Oh, not usually those," Emily said, "though that Tunguska thing was a big embarrassment. We still have a bit in the employee handbook about how it happened and how not to let it happen again. We look for claim-jumpers and pirates and day-trippers who might cause trouble. Spaceship sightings, abductions, unauthorized harvests."

Mikka kept her eyes focused on the back of Emily's spacesuit, to avoid getting even queasier from watching everything float around her. Humans weren't made for this kind of changing gravity, were they? "Harvests of what?"

"Oh," Emily said. "You know. Harvests. Look, see that sphere down in the middle, with the guiding lights for incoming shuttles? That must be the operator station. We'll head there."

"Harvests of _what_ , Emily?"

"...wheat."

"Wheat?"

"Yes," Emily said, her voice rising higher. "Wheat! It's a big problem! Pirates come in and harvest Earth's wheat and wheat-like things, like, uh, corn. If we don't stop them. That's why there's all the security around the planet. We have to stop the wheat pirates."

"Okay," Mikka said, "now you're not even trying. My cousin has married into the space mafia because of space relatives and aliens want to steal our wheat? Really?"

"No, no. It's mostly humans who want to steal your wheat."

"Space humans." Mikka took a deep breath. It didn't help, not in the spacesuit. "Whatever. Let's go call for help."

#

The trip to the operator station was almost as terrifying as being kidnapped. No, _more_ terrifying, because the kidnapping had mostly had her unconscious, and she had to be awake for every horrible leap from one ship piece to the next.

"We're surrounded by spaceships," Mikka said, clinging to a chunk of one. "Can't we just _fly_ over?"

"If they were functioning properly, they wouldn't be here," Emily said. "Some of them might be dangerous, and I don't know enough about spaceship architecture to tell which. I've never taken an imprint for that."

Mikka shuffled her feet a little nearer the edge of the piece they were perched on. Two more jumps, or three, to the station in the center, with its bright windows and strange blue glow. It didn't look like home, but it looked a lot friendlier than any of the ship pieces they'd been jumping between. Scorch marks and mangled bits of material that couldn't have been meant that way marked the edge nearest her. "Is an imprint like a class?"

"Yes," Emily said, "but they burn the information into your neural pathways instead of telling you about it and hoping you remember on your own."

"That sounds painful."

"Look!" Emily pointed. "We should jump to that part next. Grab my hand."

"I get the feeling that you're avoiding a _lot_ of topics, here," Mikka said, but she grabbed Emily's hand. Space was huge all around, huge and endless and full of stars she couldn't imagine reaching, even if one of them had to be the world she'd just left. Better to have an alien classmate's hand in hers than nothing at all.

They jumped off the piece of spaceship together, and sailed through nothing to the next one.

The soles of the spacesuit locked onto the surface of the next piece with a tiny vibration that ran all the way up through Mikka's bones. A pleasant voice told her how many minutes she had left of air, and she ignored that, along with questions of whether space minutes were a different length than Earth ones. They'd either make it or they wouldn't. It wasn't like bursting into tears or yelling at anyone would help.

"Everything's going to be fine," Emily said, walking her step by step across a spaceship hull.

"You're still not very good at lying," Mikka said.

"One more jump, then we can make it into the intake field." Emily patted her on the shoulder; the gesture was hard to feel through the suit. "You're doing great."

Mikka couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or punch someone, so she settled for gripping Emily's hand as tight as she could, and leaping to the next chunk of ship.

The intake field was a blue haze, like streetlights across fog, with lit buoys marking out its top and bottom, left and right. Not that Mikka was sure which was which of those things, when they dove into from the gravity-free terror of the space between the ships. The instant they touched into the field, it gripped them and spun them around. None of the lines showed up or down: down was pointing away from the station, and up was toward it. They floated head-first toward a hatch that opened silently for them, and closed again once they'd passed to the other side.

The gray room hissed around them. "Airlock," Emily explained, and popped off her helmet. "This is good! This means it's set up for people who need to breathe."

"You mean it might have not--" Mikka stopped herself, and didn't swing a fist at anyone or anything. "Good. So now we get on the space radio and call for my cousin, right? Or one of your people? What about Travis? Do you think he's following us?"

"He's probably..." Emily pulled the collar of the suit off, and everything snapped back into one of those tight little bundles. She looked normal again once it was off, arms and legs the right size and shapes. That was almost weirder than the previous change. "...yeah he's probably looking for us."

"You were going to say something horrible, and decided not to because it would upset me."

"Noooo," Emily said, "I was just thinking about it! I'm sure he's with the others, tracking that ship."

That sounded a lot like _I think he's dead_ to Emily, and she couldn't think of anyone her own age she'd known that had died. Though of course if he was an alien in disguise like Emily seemed to be, he might not be her age at all. Maybe he was in his alien twenties, pretending to be her age. That made it creepier, but not any less weird to think about him being dead.

"I guess I shouldn't tell Zachary to ask him out," she said, and banged at the collar of her suit until the whole thing figured out she wanted it off and folded away into a pack.

Emily stashed both of the capsules into a rack of a dozen more in the airlock. The two that went in flicked on little yellow lights, which probably meant something like "Don't pick us, we're not full on air!" It was a little reassuring to see that even things in space had warning lights and stuff like that. People being people.

"Let's look for the operator," Emily said. "They'll have the com station nearby."

The airlock opened into a huge room, with couches just floating around like there wasn't gravity pulling down at everyone's feet, and pillars arching along the sides. It was surreal. Star Trek style corridors, Mikka could've expected, but it was more like walking through a hotel lobby. _Space hotel lobby,_ she thought, and laughed out loud. The sound of that vanished into the high ceiling.

"Waiting room," Emily said, striding briskly away. "And we're not expected, so no one's offering us drinks. Let me see if--oh, there's the door for it. We want to talk to someone in charge. Station? Station, do you have a voice?"

"Who are you talking to?" Mikka hurried to keep up.

"Some stations would have an AI to keep things running," Emily said, "especially if they're understaffed, but it might not be turned on if they're not expecting guests. Or maybe they just don't have one; it could be all bots in harnesses, waiting to pop out."

"You must be in places like this all the time," Mikka said. "Since you know how everything works."

"It's my first trip off Earth," Emily said, turning one of those sunny smiles on her. "I never expected to get any off-world duties! But I read things, and we talk about this kind of thing, of course."

"Well, yay for me being kidnapped," Mikka said. They ducked through the little door together. That led to an extremely dull corridor, which felt more appropriate for a space station. "At least you're getting a vacation."

"It is a lot of fun," Emily said, "except for how I'll probably be fired at the end."

Mikka slowed down. "When you say 'fired' do you actually mean something like 'set on fire'? Because I can't tell anymore."

"Don't be silly," Emily said. "We're not tersies, we don't do barbaric things like that. Though I'm not saying you're barbaric! You're very...civilized, and refined, and culturally appropriate."

"The more you talk," Mikka said, "the less you sound like a normal person."

"There just doesn't seem to be a lot of use in pretending at this point."

A door slid open in the wall next to them without any prompting. Which wasn't weird, exactly, there was nothing weird about automatic doors, any place could have automatic doors, except for how it hadn't even looked like a door until the wall pulled apart. The weird part? Was the six-armed person standing in front of a big complicated set of panels, back to the door and paying no attention to it opening.

"Hello, Operator!" Emily said loudly. "We need to use your comms."

"Is that an alien?" Mikka whispered.

"No, that's an android. Standard issue for places like this." Emily didn't lower her voice at all, which seemed pretty rude, but maybe not ruder than talking behind a robot's back about what it was in the first place. "Operator, are you listening?"

"Guests must remain in authorized visiting areas," said the android. Five of its hands flew across the panels, while one raised in a warning gesture. "Strictly against regulations for guests to enter working areas. Please return to the guest lounge and wait for a representative to arrive." Through the enormous window above it--or on a video screen, Mikka wasn't sure which--huge crane arms pulled spaceships apart, piece by methodical piece.

"Limited creative response bot," Emily said, with sigh that sounded exactly like a teenager's. "We can just wait in the lounge until it gives us what we need. There should be a service bot somewhere around here that knows more about dealing with people, and once we talk to that one, we'll make progress."

Mikka took a few steps towards that enormous window. "Emily? What's that?"

"Oh, it's just another angle on the shipyard outside. See, there's one of the guidance beacons, over on the left--"

"No, I figured that out already. What's that light that's moving? Up in the top left corner."

Emily walked up beside her, and took a better look. "If I had to guess, I would say that's the ship we escaped from."

Mikka said something that her dad would've yelled at her for, if she ever said it in front of him.

"I agree," said Emily. "That's going to be a problem."

"Can we hide?"

"I thought I disabled the tracking beacon on the escape pod, but if they've come this far, I must've missed a tracker. Or they know it's the only place the pod would home in on. So...no. Probably not."

"Do you have _any_ kind of plan?"

Emily smiled too brightly. "I'm sure I'll come up with something!" 

On the screen, the incoming bright dot was swelling out into a distinct spaceship. Coming in _fast_ , because even if it was hard to judge distances in space, that rate of growth meant the ship was arriving soon. Really soon.

"Nope," Mikka said. "You had your chance for planning. Now we're using my plan. Distract the operator."

"I can hear what you're saying," said the robot-person. "I assure you that I am entirely focused on my task, and will not be distracted from it. Please return to the guest lounge. An authorized reception unit will wait for you there, and provide you with any refreshments you might like while waiting for a representative."

Mikka made dramatic gestures behind the operator's back. And then more explicit gestures, because Emily was staring at her blankly, and that spaceship was getting awfully close on the screen.

Then Emily said, "Oh, _right_ ," and tackled the operator.

Pulling someone out of the way was a kind of distraction, wasn't it? Probably. Mikka sat down in the chair the robot had been in, and started hitting buttons. The chair was too low and there were way too many buttons and levers and touchscreen panels and hologram bits floating around that seemed to be controls too, definitely more than two hands could manage, but she didn't have to manage everything. Or even manage much of it well. While Emily apologized to the robot she was manhandling on the ground, and the robot objected in stuffy corporate language about the manhandling, Mikka worked out enough of the controls to get some of the crane arms swinging.

She swiveled the cranes wildly around, and aimed them at the incoming spaceship.

"Does this have any guns?" she asked, and wished, for almost the first time in her life, that Vladie was around. He knew video games. Probably he could sit down at a panel like this and make it do tricks, even if he wasn't much good for anything else. Aliens should've kidnapped him, instead of her, and tried to hold him for ransom while Jupiter was doing space mob things. See how much he liked that. "--hey, is Vladie's new girlfriend someone like you? Because that would totally explain how he got one."

"Probably? Sorry. Little busy right here."

"--completely unauthorized!" said the bot.

"Yes, yes, and I'm sure you'll file a grievance, but I have my priorities," Emily said soothingly. "Mikka? What are you doing?"

Mikka spun her hand around in a floating hologram. A crane arm spun wildly in response, and nearly clipped the incoming spaceship with a vicious glowing tip that she'd seen cut right through a piece of dead spaceship minutes ago. "Saving myself," she said. "But you're helping. Good work. Keep it up."

"I'm not sure your cousin would approve."

"She wants me safe, right?" Mikka curled a foot beneath herself to let her sit a little higher, and propped a heel on the console. She couldn't do much with that, but if she stretched, she could just barely reach a button with her heel that--yes, got another crane arm twitching around. Not usefully, but as a kind of additional hazard to keep the kidnappers distracted. "I'm making sure I don't get kidnapped again. Once is more than enough."

"Do you actually know anything about space combat?"

"Nope," Mikka said. "You?" She sent a crane-arm flailing wildly in the direction of the ship, and smirked to see it skitter away from the cutting edge. "Because if you think I ought to hold down the robot while you try to do this..."

"Under the circumstances," Emily said, "maybe we should just keep this up."

"Fines will be assessed!" said the operator.

"Charge them to my cousin," Mikka said. "She's in the space mafia. She's probably loaded now. Ha!" A triangle of something spun away from the rest of the kidnappers' ship, thanks to a good slice with the crane. "I don't know what that was, but they don't have it anymore!"

"Is everyone in your family like this?" Emily asked.

Mikka jabbed at the ship with the furthest arm, and took out another sharp edge. "Bolotnikovs win again!"

"I've never even heard of that family," said the operator.

"An off-shoot of the Abrasax family," Emily said.

"...oh," said the bot, and stopped objecting entirely.

One more weird thing in a very strange day. Mikka decided to save questions for later, and slammed her heel onto the console again. Two crane arms lurched, and one half-disassembled spaceship went sailing sideways through the junkyard. Collided with another piece of ship, which collided with another, and... oh. Well. That was starting to look messy.

Messy enough that the incoming ship was now zipping away, smaller and smaller at every moment in the screen. So that was good. Even if the haphazard intersection of all those jostling bits of spaceship out there with the cranes and their cutters was probably...bad. Or at least expensive.

"I hope Jupiter has a budget for this rescue," Mikka said. She pulled her foot off the console, and twisted around in the chair to see what was going on. Mostly just Emily sitting on the robot, while it lay on the floor with six arms spread limply around it. It looked a lot like a man, aside from weird roboty bits at the joints. A man who was feeling bad about everything that had just happened to him. "So, uh. Refreshments? In the lounge? We could go to the lounge now. I've got a lot more questions, if we've got time before someone attacks again. Oh! And you can probably use the comm now, Emily. Whatever part of this it is."

"It really does run in the family," Emily said, and got off the operator. "Right, let's call this in."


End file.
